Iridescent
by TalkingElephant
Summary: The first move is always a feint. It's the most basic thing, to land a hit with the second move – or in his case, a second life. Nara Shikamaru is reborn in a completely wrong time and wrong gender, where troubles manage to ensue and give him a monumental headache. Troublesome. The tale of war, redemption and self-discovery.
1. A Ghost in the Shell

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Beta: OpheliaOtterage

* * *

"Speech"

 _A note, emphasis on the word, thought, or flashback_

* * *

 _ **"** **This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldn't get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then he would remain...**_ _ **"**_

 _ **Joseph Conrad**_ _ **,**_ _ **Heart of Darkness**_

* * *

Pain, all he felt was pain in his whole body.

He took a shallow breath and winced.

Damn, it _hurt._

Shikamaru glanced at his left leg, where white bone protruded from what was left of his severed knee – painted by the crimson beauty that was his own blood – the token of his approaching end.

Wasn't it such a burlesque, that the one that others had always perceived as weak had ended up being the one who died the last?

Even Naruto, the troublesome blond who had grown to be so powerful and had won everyone's respect, had died in the final battle against Sasuke to erase the latter's so called 'Curse of Hatred.' It was ironic after they had teamed up to protect the Shinobi World from total destruction, signaling the new era of peace and all of that idealistic rubbish.

What a joke.

But still, they moved on. The dead were buried or cremated. They rebuilt the village and they returned to their usual lives.

The same thing could not be said for Shikamaru, though.

Tsunade, the former Fifth Hokage, had lost her mind in the midst of grieving for Naruto. She abandoned Konoha and fled into a place that only she knew of, causing a vacuum of power in Konoha.

Thus, came the appointment of the new Hokage.

Every great village needed a leader, the sacrificial lamb that would have to die first in case something endangered the village. Naturally, Kakashi was offered the position, however, the man was too drowned in self-pity, believing himself to be a disgrace and unworthy of the title as he had failed to protect his comrades. Or so he said.

Things continued like that, bickering over who would be the next Hokage. Then one day, he, Nara Shikamaru –for reasons that even he was not sure of– was inaugurated as the Sixth Fire Shadow.

Although he did not want it, he acted professionally and fulfilled the Hokage's duty to the best of his ability. The least that he could do to honor the dead was making sure that Konoha was in a good hands. Admittedly, he felt quite lost at the beginning. There were so many problems to fix and so little manpower to fix them. It was by no means an easy process, but slowly all of his efforts began to pay off as things went back to normal. Konoha was functioning again and the political climate of the Elemental Nation finally had a somewhat amiable atmosphere.

Shikamaru let himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He believed that the peace that each village kept on fighting for might not be so far-fetched after all.

For all of his genius-like intelligence, Shikamaru was still a naive fool.

Peace, after all, was a fragile thing. It was hard to maintain without a powerhouse like Naruto keeping the other villages in check. He could spy on his allies and keep a tight leash on his enemies if he wanted to. However, Shikamaru could not control human greed. He could not control the black bottomless pit that exhausted one's soul in an endless effort to satisfy one's need without ever reaching satisfaction. It was human nature to want more, to desire more, to seek more. Thus, skirmishes at the borders happened again. A race to create military weapons followed them, causing the growing tension in the political atmosphere of the Elemental Nation.

Then the Fifth Shinobi War broke out. It was an all-out war between the Five Great Shinobi Villages.

Not wanting to be left out, the Daimyōs and their allies, who were fed up with the shinobi, believing them to be the source of problems in Elemental Nation, formed another faction and joined in the chaos and hell that was the war, causing poverty and economic collapse.

It was not the first time that Shikamaru thought that Madara and Obito, despite their rather misguided methods, were right after all. Man sought peace, yet at the same time yearned for war. The selfish desire of wanting to maintain peace would cause wars and in turn hatred would be borne to protect love. It was an unending cycle of misery and death.

The war went on and on. There was no winner. _What is there to win when people keep on dying left and right? When villages and cities alike are razed to the ground?_

It was as society began to crumble and people started to kill each other for food and survival that everyone realized what they had done.

They had destroyed themselves.

What was once a dignified and civilized nation was reduced to animalistic behavior. Killing others became a daily occurrence, a normal routine even. It was kill or be killed. There was no place for morals or compassion.

You wake up. You hunt. You sleep. Repeat.

How far the mighty have fallen.

 _Pathetic_.

* * *

Hagoromo Ōtsutsuki – widely known as the Sage of Six Paths – stared at the place that was once called the Elemental Nation with a pensive expression.

Hagoromo had thought that Uzumaki Naruto would have finally brought peace into the world, succeeding where others had failed. However, the reality was very far from expectation, as the young Uzumaki was dead and the world was in a state of anarchy.

He wondered that if things had been different, would there have been peace in the world?

Could peace even exist?

Had his mother been right after all?

His powerful gaze shifted to the floating spirit of the last Hokage, Nara Shikamaru. Hagoromo felt pity for him. The man's soul felt sad, lonely – empty. He had lost his faith in life and humanity. He had lost his belief in peace. He had given the world his best and he deserved his final rest. However, Hagoromo could not let that happen – not yet. Someone still had to fix the future.

Hagoromo had many things that he regretted in life. He had failed his duty as a father, as a leader, and he had failed to bring peace that he had promised the world. He was at his wits end and this man was his best gamble to make things right.

After all,it was only someone who was thoroughly acquainted with the evils of war that could thoroughly understand the profitable way of carrying it on.

* * *

Shikamaru glared at the mirror with unrestrained hatred.

He was a weak and helpless child living in the Warring State period – a miserable time where the mortality rate was so high that children were taught how to kill once they knew how to walk and speak. Whoever had shoved him into this container didn't even have the decency to put him in a male body. Apparently the dunderhead that bestowed this curse upon him had decided that it would be funny to watch the puny human squirm and writhe and had put him inside of a baby girl _._

He was shoved and forced into this… this _prison_ without his permission. He felt trapped and like he was suffocating. Every time he looked into the mirror, all that he could see was a foreign face staring back at him. His hair and eyes were a similar black to that of his old body, but the eyes were too big and the hair was too long. The cheeks were too soft and the lips were too full.

She was such a pretty little _girl_.

He wanted to kill her.

He gripped the mirror tight, as if choking it, hoping that the ghost inside would be choked too.

The glass started to crack under the pressure of his hands and he watched as the girl kept on staring at him with those dark murderous eyes, taunting him.

 _What? You're going to kill me? It won't happen. I am you, and you are me!_

No, she was not him. That _abomination_ in the mirror could not be him.

 _Yes I am_ , the high-pitched voice gloated.

She was not Nara Shikamaru. She was Nara Shikari.

 _We're the same person, s_ he said.

No, they were not.

 _You're in denial_ , the girl whispered sweetly.

Feeling fed up, he punched the mirror and broke it into hundreds of little pieces.

He brought his fist up to his face and watched as blood dripped down from the girl's knuckles onto her unmarred palm with no small amount of satisfaction.

 _Now the girl won't be so pretty anymore._

Shikamaru clenched his fist and chuckled hollowly.

Who was he kidding?

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

 **I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.**

 **Feel free to check out my other story,** **"** **The Black Parade** **"** **.**


	2. The Pseudo Paradise of a Living Doll

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Beta: OpheliaOtterage

* * *

 _ **"** **I'm going to Hell in a basket**_

 _ **Weaved in from my sins**_

 _ **Like wicker**_

 _ **With little Wiccan ties**_

 _ **As if I'm a witch**_

 _ **Accused"**_

 _ **Matthew**_ _ **Little, Hell in a Basket: A small collection of personal poems**_

* * *

Shikamaru stared blankly at the dark wooden floor, mindlessly sweeping it as he had been ordered to.

A fair skinned woman with a dark green kimono stood to his left. Her long black hair was looped in the back, while the front was slicked back with wax. A comb had been inserted into the top as a finishing touch. Her dark smoldering eyes were focused on him, openly glaring while she supervised his work.

He would have praised her beauty and grace if she wasn't so nasty.

"Are you blind, girl? That spot is still dirty!" the woman spat with a tone so vicious that one would think that he was cannibalizing a newborn's flesh in front of her, but that was nothing compared to how she treated him.

Sometimes the woman would make him do chores, of which there were a lot, twice before he would be allowed to leave the house. Usually he would just do them again, because defying the order was not worth the headache he would receive once the woman started to lament her grievous fate for having such a 'rude, lazy and disobedient wench of a daughter.' Shikamaru had lost count on how many times he had heard that particular tirade already.

Other times the woman would force him to sit in front of a mirror and comb his hair for hours while whispered about how he was going to grow to be a beautiful woman someday and marry a respectable man and bring honor to their family. The thought made him want to gag.

Shikamaru was not sure which one was worse; the thought of being married off to some random man or the fact that the woman kept unknowingly crushing his sense of self by constantly emphasizing that he was girl; a fact that would never ever change.

He remembered the first few months of his arrival, when he was so wrapped up in self-loathing and denial after realizing when and where he had ended up, being trapped in someone else's body. At that rate the woman was bound to see some of his occasional bouts of insanity.

He was not sure of this era's opinion about gender dysphoria, however, the woman could at least _pretend_ to be sympathetic to his situation and stop reminding himself about how wrong his body was by making him stare into those stupid mirrors, or making him attend stupid 'womanly' lessons.

He especially hated those lessons.

Sometimes Shikamaru wondered where the real Shikari was. Did she die? Or did she just disappear so that he could exist? Did she become a part of him? Was she hiding somewhere in the dark corner inside his – their – mind? If she were, could they switch places for a bit – just long enough for him to close his eyes and pretend that none of this was real, and that everything was alright?

Shikamaru felt the shift in the air, but he made no move to evade the strike, despite being capable of doing so, as the woman whipped her hand across his face, causing a sharp pain in his cheek.

That was nothing, he had had worse.

"Focus, girl! The floor is not going to clean itself !" the woman snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

He was not sure why he accepted the slap. He knew that he was not a masochist, but some part of him – the miserable and pathetic part of him – took the punishment as some sort of atonement for his inability to save his comrades and ensure Konoha's future. The other part of him, the part of him who felt its identity was being robbed by the circumstance, took the pain as some sort of rebellion to the woman who dedicated her life to make a 'proper' woman out of him.

After all, as the woman always said, women had to be graceful and beautiful. Although beautiful was a subjective term, he was sure that the woman didn't include bruises on one's face as a trademark of beauty.

If his skin was covered with bruises, he would be less of a woman and more of a man, right?

* * *

"Again," said the strict voice that echoed through the room. The voice was soft and barely above a whisper, but its clipped tone was heard by every occupant of the room.

Immediately, after the command was given, sounds of instruments being played filled the room. The harmonious combination of shamisen, koto, tsakuhachi and tsuzumi created an ethereal and wistful melody etched with melancholy, which was at odds with the seemingly carefree spirit of the players.

In the middle of the room the mistress' eyes surveyed the players. Her lips twitched in pride as she noted the graceful posture her pupils had as they played the instruments like an experienced geisha. Not only did they have near perfect posture, the musical arrangement they were playing was also perfect.

The only thing that dampened the mistress' mood was the latest addition to her class: a delinquent child who was sitting behind a taller girl. Her head rested on top of her knees, openly sleeping and blatantly disrespecting her and her lesson.

The mistress despised her.

The girl had no appreciation for any of the arts. Not poetry, not singing, not dancing, nor playing music. The girl had neither manners nor sophistication. She had no respect for her elders and didn't even know how to act like a proper woman. The girl was the epitome of things that the mistress did not want to be: a tasteless, passionless and useless women.

The mistress held her forefinger up, and the sounds of the music ceased abruptly.

The mistress walked closer to the delinquent with her rattan cane in tow. Her pupils obediently shuffled aside and let the mistress walk through. They knew what would happen next and they did not want to be on the receiving end of the mistress' wrath.

The mistress stopped two feet away from the girl. She briefly eyed the girl with a frown before she swung the cane into the girl's head.

However, before the cane could hit it intended target, a pale arm rose and halted its descent.

"You miss again, Shishou," Shikamaru said. His eyes were half-lidded with his trademark look of boredom plastered on his face.

The mistress smiled sweetly. The girl might have the nerve to mock her _now_ , but soon she would not have it any longer.

"It was my intention, dear."

They both knew that it was a lie. Loath as she might to admit it, the girl did have a very good reflex. She caught the cane in such a way that her hand would bear a minimum amount of damage from the force of the blow.

"The usual I presume?" the girl asked plainly, as if she was not bothered by the punishment that would befall upon her.

It irked the mistress, but still, she smiled politely.

"You know the drill."

Shikamaru sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. He did not want to hear the troublesome woman bitching even more about his attitude, not when he had had enough of that headache inducing speech from the previous lessons.

He walked into the corner of the room and lazily dragged the wooden 'punishment chair' with him into the middle of the room before he climbed and stood on top of it.

"Come now, lift your skirt," the mistress said expectantly to him.

Shikamaru mindlessly lifted the ugly piece of clothing that he had been forced to wear.

The mistress stared at the back of the girl's calves. There were some fading bruises and lines from the previous punishments. However, considering the amount of frequency in which the girl got punished, they looked relatively fine.

Perhaps she should punish the girl harsher this time. Maybe then she would finally get it through her thick skull how to behave like a proper woman.

The mistress liked the idea.

The mistress turned around and faced the rest of her students. "Our lesson will finish early today. Your music performance today was acceptable enough that I do not feel embarrassed to be your teacher."

Her pupils looked visibly brightened by the compliment. _Those fools._

"Nevertheless, I still expect every single one of you to practice your poetry at home. Do not disappoint me."

"Yes, Shishou," the students chorused.

They gave the mistress a bow before they ushered themselves out of the room, leaving the mistress alone with the girl. Then she turned to the delinquent and let a menacing smile appear on her face. "Now that we are alone, let us deal with your bad behavior."

The mistress moved the cane and lightly tapped it on the girl's back.

"Strip," the mistress ordered.

Shikamaru's eyes widened.

* * *

 **A/N:** Shishou (師匠) = teacher, master. The word itself has a more literal meaning of teacher and is closer to the concept of one's master (the first character shi or sui means commander or governor).

 **Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

 **I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.**

 **Feel free to check out my other story, "The Black Parade".**


	3. The Firefly's Camellia

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

Beta: OpheliaOtterage

* * *

 _ **"** **...unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before.**_ _ **"**_

 _ **Elle Newmark**_ _ **,**_ _ **The Book of Unholy Mischief**_

* * *

Shikamaru stared incredulously at the wall in front of him.

 _Is this woman for real?_

"Come now girl, strip. Or are you too much of a dunderhead to understand my simple command?" she taunted.

Shikamaru was no stranger to corporal punishment; he was a ninja after all. If the woman wanted to strike him, he would not cause too much of a ruckus. He had to build his new body's pain tolerance from somewhere. Even Konoha – who was alleged as the 'friendliest' of the Five Great Shinobi Countries – still applied corporal punishment, even to civilians, if they chose to avoid incarceration and be punished by it instead.

What he was _not_ fine with, was the fact that the woman did not even think twice before deciding on corporal punishment for children.

Shikamaru was not a child; he could take the pain and heal himself. However, what about other children, _real_ children? He was aware that the protection of children in this era was abysmal at best – considering the fact that they trained children how to kill before they could even read – but caning and whipping? That was not acceptable in his book.

Even though Shikamaru was more than familiar with pain, he had to admit that the woman had never before held her strength back. He did not want that rattan cane to come anywhere near his spine.

The mistress, on the other hand, watched the girl with no small amount of anger and annoyance. Feeling her patience began to run out with the girl's disobedience, the mistress roughly yanked the girl's collar down, exposing her pale neck and shoulders.

The sight brought her into a stunned silence.

It reminded the mistress of a memory not too long ago, a memory of a woman who smelt like Camellia.

The mistress remembered her,

 _She is sprawled on the mistress's bed, her long black hair cascades down her naked back. She is sleeping soundly, like a baby, her long lashes brush against her rosy cheeks._

The mistress loved her lips the most though.

 _Her lips are tantalizing red in color_ _._ _T_ _hey are slightly parted in her slumber._

When she woke up, those luscious lips would curve into an amazing smile that took the mistress's breath away. She rarely did it, but when she did, it was always directed at _her_. It was a small smile, something others almost never noticed, but that smile made her feel as if the universe had stopped spinning and there was only the two of them in their own little world.

She was the most beautiful thing the mistress ever laid her eyes on, an ethereal goddess, too divine for this plain and humble place.

 _But now she's gone._

The mistress unconsciously dug her sharp nails against her student's shoulder.

The mistress knew she was not worthy of her attention, but still, she could dream. The mistress always wanted to touch her goddess, to feel the softness of her skin, to inhale her sweet, sweet scent.

She always wanted to press her lips against hers, to mingle their breaths together. She wanted to be close to her, to feel the warmth her body radiated, to know if her heartbeats sped up too when they were close together.

However, the mistress never had the courage.

She was afraid that if she got too close then the goddess would disappear, that she would feel disgusted. So she kept her distance, close enough to admire her, but not so close where it would be considered inappropriate.

 _And now she's gone, taken away from me._

Fate was such a cruel bitch.

She kept her pain and jealousy to herself, letting them hurt her aching and deteriorating heart until there was nothing left inside.

The manwho took her hands in marriage did not deserve her. He never loved her like _she_ did. He kept _her_ goddess away even though he never loved her.

Words could not describe how much she longed to see her. But she could not afford to be selfish, she could not come closer, because if she did then her goddess would get hurt. She would die if anything ever happened to her love.

The mistress could see that her goddess was not happy, she knew because _she_ was the only one who could make her happy.

Her goddess never smiled anymore. Her sweet Camellia slowly decayed into–

"Shishou… Are you okay?"

 _What?_

The mistress blinked her eyes, and felt droplets of water fall down her cheeks. It was only now that she realized that she had started crying. She had never felt more pathetic.

No, no, no, no, no.

She was the mistress dammit, she was a strong woman, she should not cry.

She should not let others see her weakness, especially not this girl. Not the girl that reminded her of everything that she could not and would not ever have. Not the girl whose very existence was the ultimate mockery that fate had decided to grace her with.

The mistress loathed her, more than anything _._

"Get out."

"But–"

"I said, _GET OUT_!"

The woman violently kicked the legs of the chair, making it tumble onto the floor. Shikamaru's quick reflex was the only thing that prevented him from kissing the ground.

"What is wrong with you?!"

The mistress swung her cane at him in response, but he quickly dived out of the way and made a beeline towards the sliding door to escape from the deranged woman. Shikamaru didn't want to know what happened inside, but he could hear the sound of furniture being thrown at the walls.

He continued to run in the direction of his house, straightening his clothes in the process. He did not want other people to reach a wrong conclusion about what had transpired.

Once he was near his house, he slowed his pace and acted nonchalantly. He quietly sneaked into the house, ignoring his body's mother who was tending to her Camellia garden, and headed towards his room. He locked the door and threw himself into the futon, savoring its uncomfortable texture.

 _It's what you deserve_ , he remembered the woman had said.

It was still better than nothing.

Shikamaru glanced out of his bedroom's window. According to the sun's position, it was only an hour after noon. He still had a few more hours before dinner. He'd better do something productive until then.

He rolled into his side and used his toes to drag four wooden dolls that were scattered in the floor closer to him. He then picked the broken dolls with his hands and threw them into the corners of the room.

 _Perfect._

Shikamaru pushed his chakra into his hands, materializing it on the tips of his fingers. He then lengthened the concentrated chakra into threads and attached them to the dolls. One did not befriend a puppeteer without learning a trick or two.

The key of this exercise was balance. If the chakra threads were too thick, the puppets' movements would become too stiff and the enemy would easily spot him. At the same time, if they were too thin, the threads would not be strong enough to properly move the puppets.

It was a good exercise for someone like him, who preferred not to tax himself too much.

The fact that he _could_ break someone's joints once he was adept at using the chakra threads had nothing to do with it.

 _Nothing at all._

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

 **I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.**

 **Check out my other story, "The Black Parade".**


	4. Just a Harmless Little Plan

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"** **My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm."**_

 _ **Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl**_

* * *

Dinner time, suffice to say, was tense.

Shikamaru's new mother was seated in the middle of the table, farthest from the entrance, as the most honored person. Shikamaru himself was seated near the entrance, as the least important person. Even during the most mediocre activity the woman never ceased to send a jab towards his person. Not that it offended him, it was rather amusing to watch her tried so hard to make him feel unwanted.

Shikamaru quietly munched the rice in his mouth whilst discreetly glancing at the blond man who was seated somewhere between him and the bitch queen. The man looked tired; understandably, since he only had returned from his mission few hours ago. However, that was not the thing that piqued his interest.

Shikamaru watched with aberrant – almost cruel – delight as the man gathered his wits and moved the gears in his brain, trying to say something but always holding his tongue when his wife's eyes swiveled onto his direction.

The man reminded Shikamaru of young Chōji, shy and afraid to utter his mind, afraid of chastisement and judgment from his peers. The only difference was the fact that the man was afraid of his own wife.

During the Warring State period, Akimichi Clan, Nara Clan, and Yamanaka Clan lived together as allies. They used their respective strengths to complement each other's weaknesses. That was how they survived from clans with strong military front, such as the Uchiha and the Senju. More often than not, the members of these three clans would have intermarriage with the other clans' members to strengthen their ties, for example Shikamaru's new mother and father.

Unfortunately, their arranged marriage was not a healthy or a working one, let alone a happy one. The man had a low self-esteem, whilst the woman was volatile and conceited. One did not have to be a genius to figure out how an argument between the two of them would end. They did not make a good match, but their parents did not care. It was for a political gain after all, they needed to uphold their families' power within their respective clan. How society judged a relationship was also not helping the man either, as the man was expected to 'man up' and deal with his own wife. However, the way Shikamaru saw it, abusive relationship was abusive, regardless of the gender. Thus, Shikamaru decided to cut the man some slack and help him.

"How's your mission father?"

The man smiled at him like he was the long awaited salvation that he had been waiting for all of his life. Shikamaru felt awful for inwardly laughing at him before.

"It went well, thank you for asking. There are no casualties from our side and the mission is a success."

"Good." Shikamaru nodded his head.

"Yes, good," the man mumbled.

Shikamaru was not expecting the man to come home tonight; however, his appearance had given Shikamaru a sudden idea that could either result in utter disaster or give him an advantage that would be useful for him in the long run.

 _What to do? What to choose?_

Shikamaru made up his mind in split-second and decided to carry out his plan. It was a good opportunity to test the man's boundary – a social study of sort.

"Father?" he called.

The man glanced up. "Yes?"

"Do you, by any chance, want to say something to mother?"

The man seemed to freeze whilst his spouse perked up at the mention of her title.

"N-no," he stammered.

Shikamaru frowned. From his peripheral vision he could see how the woman raised her chin in mockery towards her husband.

That would not do. Shikamaru had to give the man more incentive.

Shikamaru snarled inside the man's mind, _"Are you kidding me?! How long are you going to be her plaything? You hate her! I hate her! Stand up for yourself! If not for your sake, then do it for mine!"_

The man's eyes widened, but he quickly recovered and kept his cool. The only sign of his distress was the slight clenching of his fist around his chopsticks.

 _"You can use Yamanaka Clan telepathy?"_

 _"I'm speaking to you, aren't I?"_ Shikamaru deadpanned.

 _"I'm sorry, that was a stupid question."_ The man sounded so dejected that Shikamaru felt like he was kicking a puppy.

Troublesome. Too much, then.

 _"No, I am sorry. I was insensitive and rude. But you need to stop blaming yourself for everything."_ Shikamaru inwardly pinched the bridge of his nose. _"Despite the horrible things mother said to you – which are completely wrong in my opinion – you are a good father. So don't you ever forget that."_

The man was silent after that. Shikamaru gave him some space and continued to eat his food as if nothing had happened, lest bitch queen began to suspect something. He was not in the mood to deal with her tirade and he did not want to accidentally snap her neck in two.

Shikamaru was halfway done with his food when the man began to speak inside his mind again.

 _"Shikari?"_

 _"Yes?"_ he responded after a slight hesitation. Sometimes he forgot the new name that was given to him.

 _"Is the bruise on your cheek…?"_ the man trailed off, unsure how to word his question.

 _"Yes."_ Yes, it was from mother.

 _"Oh."_

 _".…"_

 _"I'm so–"_

Shikamaru resisted the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. _"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault."_

 _"Yes it is,"_ the man insisted, firmer for the first time since Shikamaru could remember. _"I'm too afraid to stand up to her and now you receive the brunt from my lack of action. I am sorry."_

 _"It's okay. I'm used to it,"_ he assured.

That answer was like a slap on the man's face, just like how Shikamaru intended it to be.

The man faltered for a second, his chopsticks almost fell from his grip. When his wife's sharp eyes turned to his direction, he immediately composed himself and resumed to eat.

 _"Shikari?"_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"Thank you... for what you have said earlier. It means a lot."_

 _"It's nothing."_

 _"No, it's not_ nothing _!"_ Shikamaru pretended to wince at the harsh tone. The man's tone turned apologetic afterwards. _"It's just that… my father used to belittle me when I was I child and my… my_ mother _,"_ he spat out the word, _"she only watched him. She never defended me, not even once. And just like her, I never interfere with your mother,"_ he finished bitterly.

Shikamaru hoisted more rice into his chopsticks, attentively listening to the man's explanation whilst keeping an eye on the woman in front of him. She was watching him too.

 _"As pathetic as it sounds,_ you _, my daughter, are the first person who ever encourage me to fight back."_

Shikamaru glanced at the subtle shift on the man's posture. It was as if a new resolve had taken over him.

 _"I won't let her touch you again, ever. I will make sure that you have a better – happier – life than me. You'll have a bright future ahead of you, I swear it."_

How touching. Shikamaru would have believed him had he not experienced first-hand just how dark and disappointing life could have become.

 _"Thank you,"_ he replied nonetheless.

 _"No. Thank_ you _."_

* * *

Etsuko Nara sat inside her bedroom, a simple room with one futon, a small dresser and a low table. On top of the small table was candlelight to accompany her in the darkness. Once in a while she would glance at the translucent shoji door that overlooked her courtyard, checking if the person she was waiting for had finally arrived.

Yesterday, one week after the family dinner that had left her feeling unsettled, Etsuko had received a letter from her former friend, Hotaru, who requested for an audience with her. She said that it was an important matter.

Etsuko, of course, only felt indignation at the other woman's audacity to want to meet her when she had all but abandoned Etsuko after her marriage. Although Etsuko would not admit it, Hotaru was the only one who knew the woman behind the polite façade she wore. Hotaru was the only one who accepted her as she was and the only one who would stay beside her even after Etsuko had cursed her to the deepest pit of hell when she lost herself to her anger.

However, after her marriage, the woman had simply cut all contacts with her and pretended as if their friendship never existed, as if they were stranger. Their interactions became strictly professional and business-like, as if they had not known each other for more than a _decade_. Etsuko would not admit it to anyone, but the treatment hurt _._ It _hurt_ more than anything.

Etsuko could lament however she wanted to about how Hotaru would be nothing without her, how if Etsuko did not take a pity on the girl and plead for her father to spare her, Hotaru would be killed or be sold as a slave, but it would never change the fact that Hotaru's abandonment had made Etsuko felt truly alone. Her mother and her brothers were gone, they were all dead. Hotaru was the only one that she had left, but the woman had left her too.

 _It's for your own good_ , she said.

Etsuko knew it was bullshit.

 _She just have had enough of you_ , the voice inside her head supplied. It would not be strange, considering the fact that her own family hated her, not that she cared much.

Etsuko was aware of the fact that her good-for-nothing husband despised her (even though he was too scared to say it); he had been since their uneventful arranged marriage where he was forced to take her last name. Even though her family was not all that influential within her clan, the man was just a mere bastard – sure, a Yamanaka's clan head's bastard, but a bastard nonetheless – and she was _way_ better than what he actually deserved. It aggravated her that she was being wedded to someone who was born out of a wedlock, but at least now she could use the inheritance her father – who fortunately had been killed in his mission six months ago – had left her.

That coward always let her got away with her whims, be it humiliating him, putting him down, criticizing him, using their money however she wanted – even though he was the one who was supposed to control them since he was _technically_ the adopted heir of her family – or treating his daughter like a servant.

The latest was her _favorite_ pastime activity.

Etsuko remembered how her own mother had explained to her – how her warm brown eyes were directed at her – that a mother's duty was to love their children, no matter what. Her own mother's marriage was arranged, but she loved her children anyway.

However, Etsuko _could not_ love this child. She could not and would not love the one who had taken her _real_ baby girl away, ever.

Etsuko knew that something was wrong with the baby the moment she felt the baby's chakra after she birthed it. Etsuko was no shinobi, but she could feel its chakra with extreme clarity – not that she ever told anyone – and _that_ _thing_ had an uncontrollable chakra of a grown man, full of anger and volatile, like an evil spirit.

For months Etsuko had tried to convince herself that there was nothing wrong with the baby, that she was only hallucinating and that soon everything would be back to normal. However, no matter how much she tried to drown herself in denial, her instinct kept screaming at her that the thing that she called daughter was not her baby.

Etsuko trusted her instincts, they never lied.

Her suspicion was confirmed during one evening when her husband was on a mission. The rain was pouring heavily outside, it looked like it would evolve into a thunderstorm. When Etsuko heard her baby crying, she had thought that the eight months old was afraid of the storm, thus she immediately headed to the nursery to comfort her. What she saw was the opposite.

Etsuko saw what was supposed to be her baby crying whilst laughing like a maniac, her chakra lashed out at her surrounding, making the nursery looked like it had been hit by a typhoon. Shards of glass were embedded in the walls, and blood pooled at the futon from where the girl had cut herself. Thinking quickly, Etsuko simply grabbed scissors, a bandage, an alcohol, and a water-filled basin. She put the items near the door and let the thing to dress its wound itself.

With the revelation, Etsuko felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She did not know and did not care what it was, be it evil spirit, demon, or yōkai – perhaps even a birth monster. Etsuko simply stopped caring about the thing entirely.

Since that incident the thing pretended as if nothing had happened. It behaved like a normal human being, like the child its appearance suggested. Although the thing had not made an attempt against her life, _yet_ , Etsuko never let her guard down, and she would be lying if she said that she had not considered various plans to kill it.

Etsuko herself even began to dare to test her boundary, to see how far it would stand her action. It accepted her insults and harsh words, it was willing to do the chores she assigned to it, and it took her abuse and seemed not to care about what Etsuko did to it. If it was its plan to lull her into a false sense of security, it _almost_ succeeded, but Etsuko would never believe its act.

Etsuko also found a peculiar fact about the thing. It hated mirrors, or any kind of reflective surface which showed it her baby girl's face. The thing especially loathed her when Etsuko mentioned anything about its appearance. Thus, when she attended to its basic needs, Etsuko would never forget to praise its appearance, telling how beautiful it was and how it would make a fine wife for a lucky man.

Etsuko relished the way it would tightly clench its hands until they bleed and pretend as if her words did not affect it at all. Etsuko knew she should have known better than to tempt that _thing_ , but she could not help it, she wanted the monster who took away her daughter to suffer. If only no one would notice its disappearance, Etsuko would have–

The sounds of the door being knocked broke Etsuko from her musing.

Etsuko moved to stand and smoothed her face into a polite smile. She would show Hotaru that she was not affected by the woman's (lack of) appearance. Etsuko was not sure why her heartbeat was thundering inside her rib cage, as if she was anticipating Hotaru's arrival. She definitely was not.

 _At all._

Etsuko slid the door open,

And her smile slipped abruptly from her lips.

* * *

Shikamaru was not sure what exactly he had expected when he decided to do his spur-of-the-moment plan.

It certainly was not this.

Not that he was complaining or anything, but it seemed he had severely underestimated Hitoshi Nara, né Yamanaka's, dauntlessness. The sight before him certainly did not match any kind of pattern he had saw on the man.

Shikamaru heaved an annoyed sigh.

He only had come home from visiting his new paternal grandparents in the Yamanaka Clan's settlement, where the clan head's wife and children treated him and Hitoshi like a second-class citizen – which they technically were, in the term of social status – even though it was unnecessary since Hitoshi was no longer in the running to be Yamanaka's Clan Head.

Three days of staying there had put a massive strain in his patience limit, and Shikamaru had come home with the intention of sleeping for one whole day without interruption. However, it seemed the universe was not content by simply letting him rest peacefully in his uncomfortable bed, because once he walked inside the house, he was greeted with a smell that was all too familiar to him,

The smell of rotting corpse.

He, of course, had followed the source to investigate, even though it was already obvious who the corpse was.

Turned out it was not a corpse, but corpses, corpses which also happened to be bitch queen and bitch sensei. He felt somewhat sorry, but even in their deaths he still could not find it in him to address them with proper titles and respect.

The corpses were wrapped in an embrace, a lewd one considering their position. Judging from the empty sleeping pills' container, the four empty sake bottles that were strewn on the tatami mat, and the fact that there was no sign of forced entry nor anomaly in the corpses that suggested that they were forced to take the pills and the alcohol, it was logical to assume that the cause of their deaths were suicide by drug's poisoning.

However, Shikamaru knew better. It was too perfect, too coincidental – and who else could commit such a clean and traceless murder better than someone who was proficient in mind techniques? It was most likely Hitoshi. Yes, it could be someone else, but it was unlikely. Until new evidence provided itself, Shikamaru would have to withhold any judgment.

Well… no matter.

Shikamaru glanced at the rotting corpses. He supposed he should do something about them, else their stenches became too hard to be removed.

Shikamaru sighed. Now he had to pretend to be sad and cried for at least two days.

Troublesome.

* * *

"Nii-san, should we kill them?"

The elder of the two glanced at his little brother, then to the two women who were slumped at the base of the tree, drugged unconscious.

They had just returned from their mission when he sensed presences near the tree which he previously intended to use as a temporary resting place. He felt quite tired and his chakra was quite spent, thus he would appreciate a little bit of rest.

"Well... we have no use for them. Based on their chakra level they are civilian, so leaving them here in the open will only increase the risk of them being taken by bandits or being eaten by wild animals."

"So, do we kill them or not?" the younger boy asked impatiently.

The older boy folded his hands and observed the two women, trying to find a clue about their value.

They were clothed in a nondescript, dull kimono. There were no insignia of their clan in their respective clothes. Their features were also averages enough. One of them had black hair whilst the other had brown. The black haired one though, she had a distinct smell of a flower, a Camellia if he was not wrong.

Then there were red marks in their neck, most likely from a kunai. But for whatever reason their supposed killer decided not to kill them in the last second, only leaving red marks in their throats.

Odd.

"I think we should keep them," he declared.

"Why?" The confusion was palpable in the other boy's voice.

"Well… you know father. He likes," he made a vague motion with his hand, showing how uncomfortable he was to speak about the topic with the younger boy, "…pretty women."

Those women were quite beautiful – personally he thought they looked boring, he couldn't care less about their faces; he simply wanted to go home and get some sleep – certainly matched their father's usual type. If the man did not like them he could always kill them, sell them, or made them the clan's servants, whichever their father preferred.

"But why? He has mother, mother is pretty too."

" _That_ , Izuna, is a question that I will answer once you are older."

"But _nii-san_!" the boy whined.

"Now, now, don't be like that." He smiled and ruffled his brother's hair. "Come on, you need to rest, I'll do the first watch."

Madara ignored his brother's pout and ushered him aside, making sure he was really resting instead of just feigning sleep.

Meanwhile, somewhere in another part of the Land of Fire, two corpses inside the coffins that were being cremated dissolved into muds, leaving no trace of the deception as the coffins were consumed by blazing fire.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

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	5. Lies, Greed & Misery

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"We're a different sort of thief here, Lamora. Deception and misdirection are our tools. We don't believe in hard work when a false face and a good line of bullshit can do so much more."**_

 _ **Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora (Gentleman Bastard, #1)**_

* * *

"Father, I want to be a shinobi."

Shikamaru watched with an ill-disguised amusement as Hitoshi tried to compose himself after almost dropping his spoonful of hot soup in surprise.

The man sputtered. "Pardon?!"

Emotion – _love_ – was such a dangerous thing. One word about his dear daughter in possible danger could turn this lethal killer into a wrecked mess in split-second.

"I said that I want to be a shinobi. You know, doing missions and stuff," Shikamaru iterated.

Two years had passed since the 'suicides' incident. There was not much hassle around it. The motive was already quite clear, whilst Hitoshi himself had a sound alibi and was widely known as a kindhearted man, so no one had raised any fuss. If others had any suspicion, they kept it to themselves.

Shikamaru on the other hand had been training himself to get back in shape. He had arrived with all of his chakra in tow. He knew that chakra was part of oneself, but even he would not expect it to follow him to this damned era. He vividly remembered those torturous moments when he first arrived in the timeline, when his whole chakra was squeezed inside the tiny confinement of a newborn babe. Not only did his chakra control have gone absolutely terrible, he also felt like his whole body was being stabbed with a thousand invincible needles. He truly deserved an award for waking up in the morning instead of sleeping like a log as he planned to. Thankfully, life was easier now that no one really paid any attention on his whereabouts. Hitoshi himself was getting busier with his own missions.

"I heard it the first time you say it, but _why_?!"

Shikamaru ignored the outburst and calmly took a sip from his glass.

It was quite simple actually. He had been trapped in this era for years, and so far he still did not know _why_ or _how_ he ended up here. He was painfully lacking in information department, he did not even know where he was. The landscape of this Land of Fire was unfamiliar for him. There were no roads or direction signs, there were only trees, and trees, and endless amount of trees. There were no endemic flora or fauna that could help him to narrow down his exact location, and his clansmen were too much of a paranoid bastard for him to sneak around the compound to find any maps or documents that could give him any inclination regarding his whereabouts. Even Hitoshi – who was a mush when it came to his daughter – never disclosed any information that could compromise their clan's safety, however innocuous it was.

To gather more information he would need to get out of the compound and explore the land, and he _needed_ to be a shinobi to do that. However, it was not just that simple. For women, profession as a ninja – or any kind of fighting warrior – was almost non-existent. Women's roles were usually only to be exercised behind the scenes (especially for upper-class women): in palaces, council chambers, and living quarters where decisions were made, alliances arranged, and intrigues unfolded. Sure, there existed fighting women – samurai women mostly – but the conflicts they were involved in, by and large, were of a defensive nature. And as far as he knew – which was quite a lot – apart from one or two ambiguous examples, there were no records of women being recruited to serve in armies or ordered to fight, neither did there appear to be any authentic examples of all-women armies.

Thus, he needed a plan. A plan that could make the clan head willing to defy the norm, a plan that could make _him_ – who to his dismay was still trapped as a woman – be enlisted as a shinobi, and not just a benched one, but an active front-line shinobi.

Annoyingly enough – not that he expected it to be any better – after an extensive research which might or might not involve nagging and harassing his neighbor until the poor guy finally relented and told him what he needed to know, Shikamaru found out that his only mean to be a shinobi was through Hitoshi, which meant that Shikamaru had to somehow persuade the man to practically sign his only child's death warrant on top of making him ignore the fact that his _daughter_ wanted to be a fighter. Shikamaru would not be lying to say that he did not like his odds. It would not be a problem if Hitoshi was still a meek little mouse he used to be. However, since Etsuko's demise the man had grown a back bone, and his self-esteem also had been steadily growing. It was really troublesome. It was in a situation like this that Shikamaru almost wished that Etsuko was still around, _almost_.

Oh, well… there was no merit in lamenting about what had happened. The key to win was to _always_ be patience and calm. Observe and analyze your opponents' move, and when they lowered their guards down, _end_ them.

He might not win the battle, but he would win the war.

Shikamaru plastered his most determined look – a mixture of anger and indignation were mixed with just the right amount of patriotism to make it more believable – and put his glass down.

"Because out there, our clansmen are _dying_ , some of them are only one or two years older than me. Remember Ichiro, our neighbor's son? He died last week, and he wasn't even _ten_ years old. How can I just sit here, doing _nothing_ , living my life as if everything's _fine_ when it's actually not?!" Shikamaru asked with a very convincing biting tone.

"I'd rather have them die instead of you," Hitoshi replied coolly. "Being a shinobi is not a _game_ , it's a painful and dirty job. It's not something that you _choose_. You do it because you have no other choice. _I_ do it because I have _no choice_."

"I do not know what has gotten into you, but you are a brilliant girl, there are plenty of other choices that you can choose. If you want to contribute yourself to the clan, you can be a healer. You could invent new medicine that would benefit us and our allies. Or if you are interested, you can be an apprentice under the clan's seal master. Having a good career will certainly increase your chance of being chosen as the clan heir's bride. We know that if you married him, you will be well provided."

Shikamaru's façade almost slipped in annoyance.

Of course, it would always boil down to _that_. In this period, all women had certain duties that they were expected to fulfill. They were made only to serve their father, husband, and son throughout their lifetime. Women followed this simple rule: As a young girl, she obeyed her father; upon marriage, she obeyed her husband; and when widowed, she had to obey her son. As soon as a woman married she was assumed to bear her husband a son, and if a woman became widowed, she could never marry again.

How many times had he heard this shit again?

Shikamaru was almost tempted to trick one of his cousins to marry him before smothering the poor bastard in his sleep and made himself a widow if it could make everyone shut their mouth already.

"I _never_ said it's a game," Shikamaru started. "I've helped to clean the wounded in the infirmary, and honestly I don't feel any passion in healing people, or sealing arts for that matter." _That's a lie, but who cares._ "Are you going to force me to do something that I don't even want?" _Guilt-trips him._ "And marriage?!" Shikamaru barked out a harsh laugh for extra effect. "I would only end up like mother. Do you want _me_ to end up like _her_?" Hitoshi flinched at the reminder of the woman. His brave demeanor starting to crumble.

Shikamaru grasped the man's hands in his and soften his expression and tone.

"I want to be like _you_. I want to fight for _our_ _family_ too." _Feed on his ego_. "I don't want to marry _anyone_ ," Shikamaru whispered brokenly, his big glistening eyes only complimented his act even further. "I just want to stay here. I only need my dad, I don't want anyone else." When Hitoshi's eyes teared up, Shikamaru took advantage of the man's vulnerable state and reinstated his point. "Dad, _please_ , at least let me try first. I think I can do it." Shikamaru injected determination into his eyes. "No, I _know_ I can do it. If I'm no good, then I– I promise that I'll quit." _Make a compromise._

Hitoshi stared at him, his eyes were in turmoil, his lips were pursed and creases outlined his forehead. His shoulders were tense, showing how conflicted he was about the idea of letting his only daughter indulge her ridiculous aspiration of becoming a ninja, whilst at the same time unwilling to outright reject and disappoint her.

Shikamaru was on edge when the man opened his mouth to answer him, but he still maintained his impeccable act.

Hitoshi sighed in resignation. "Pack your clothes after dinner. Tomorrow morning we will go to the trainee barrack. I will speak with the instructors to let you train with the others for one week. If you show a big potential, the clan head _might_ let you join the rank. But if not, you will _never_ speak of this nonsense again, _ever_. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Shikamaru smiled with mock salute. "Thanks dad, I love you," he added softly.

Hitoshi smiled like a fool after hearing that last statement, his worries over his daughter crazy idea momentarily forgotten.

 _It's just a phase_ , he convinced himself. _The girl is lazy, she will definitely quit after she experiences the taxing training. As per their agreement, once she fails she will never bring this subject again. It will be okay. She will be okay. They will be okay._

Hitoshi patted the girl's cheek and returned to his steadily cooling food.

Shikamaru's casually bowed his head and strategically hid his face behind the wide sleeve of his yukata, his smile slipped immediately. _Too easy_ , he thought. He was practically a shinobi now. Even though he was currently trapped inside a child's body, he was still a shinobi with decades of more advanced knowledge. He could handle whatever they threw at him. The clan head definitely would not reject a talented addition in his band of mercenary, his current gender be damned.

If Hitoshi thought that he could stop him from becoming a shinobi, then he was in for a big surprise.

* * *

"You summon me, father?"

Madara stood before his father. His stance was relaxed, but still alert and respectful. Sweats were dripping down from his forehead after an intense sparring session with three of his clansmen.

"Sit," Uchiha Tajima ordered curtly, he did not take his eyes off of the scroll he was writing.

Tajima pulled one particular nondescript scroll from his drawer, rolled it open and laid it in front of his heir. "Read it."

Madara cautiously lifted the piece of parchment into his hand. His eyebrows raised into his hairline as his eyes roamed over its content.

"You want me to make... suicide bombs?" he asked, unsure.

"Yes. They will serve as precaution."

"Precaution for what?"

"What else? Of course for the women that I have you caught," the clan head answered. A hint of ridiculousness seeped into his tone, conveying his bafflement on why the boy even asked such an obvious question.

Madara stared blankly at his father. His eyes darted to the scroll, then to the clan head again, waiting for some kind of explanation. When none came, he decided to address the question himself. "But won't it put you in unnecessary danger?"

Tajima finally glanced up, his eyebrows arched. "Do pray tell, _how_ exactly will it put _me_ in _any_ danger?"

Madara on the other hand was flabbergasted, wasn't it already obvious?

"Well, you know, _because_."

"Because…" the clan head trailed off.

" _Because,_ " the preteen insisted.

Tajima scoffed, obviously annoyed by the lack of answer. "Just how much of a retard are you that you become utterly incapable of explaining your own thoughts?"

"What's the point of answering it anyway? You already know the answer, so why don't _you_ tell me?" The boy huffed.

Tajima ignored the boy's rude tone and put his brush down, inwardly wondering just what kind of nonsense that had gone through the boy's head. He had a feeling that he was going to _absolutely_ regret ever asking about it.

"What do you think I use them for?" Tajima asked tersely.

Madara shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "As your whores?"

His father had ordered him to take random slaves with good features to one of their hideouts for no apparent reason. Madara had few theories why, and at the top of the list was for sexual gratification. He kind of understood the gist of relationship between men and women, and the few men that he had been in a mission with had casually talked about their sexual escapades, thus he kind of understood what adultery is, even though he thought that it was dumb. He did not like it, but one of his older cousin said that it was not uncommon for clan head to take mistresses – even _he_ and Izuna was the products of the man's second marriage – so who was he to defy the man's order?

Tajima on the other hand was not really expecting _that_ response, thus he only stared at his son, his face equally blank even though he was inwardly suppressing the urge to bang his head against his desk. It was _unbecoming_ for someone of his status.

Sometimes he wondered why he had not disowned the boy yet.

…

 _Oh right…_

 _Three of his eldest are_ fucking _dead._

Tajima closed his eyes to ward his impending headache and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Let's pretend that this conversation _never_ happened and get down to business." Once he opened them again they were already crimson in color, their eerie red colors only accented his already gaunt face. "They are _not_ my _whores_. They are my _pet_ _project_ , my _spy network_ pet project."

Tajima was pleased to find the boy watching him with rapid attention.

"I plan on scattering them in few locations that are controlled by our enemies. I have exchanged a technique with our ally that can make them an effective sleeper agents, however this technique is still not perfect, and in the event when they become compromised," Tajima jabbed his forefinger to the mission plan on the scroll in Madara's hand, "I want them to _disappear_ , along with everything within half-mile radius."

It might seem like a rather hasty decision to simply blow up their enemies' camps. However, their enemies' deaths had always been their end goal. The use of a large scale explosion was not the Uchiha's modus operandi, thus it would be less likely for them to be the first suspect if he had to resort to detonate those spies; and even _if_ someone had managed to prove that it was indeed _them_ , the showcase of power certainly would only boost their reputation, and in extent their missions' request and money income.

Madara on the other hand was not entirely pleased with the order.

"How am I supposed to make a seal with _that_ much radius blast? Those women are civilian. They don't have enough chakra to power the seal. And I'm not really good with seal yet, so why don't you just order the clan's seal master to do it? Or better yet, kidnap some Uzumaki and make them do it."

The clan head frowned.

"Why don't _you_ figure it out yourself instead of whining like a child?" Tajima rebutted. " _You_ are the future clan head. _You_ have to be versatile and well-rounded in shinobi arts. Are you telling me that the _Uchiha Clan's heir_ is an _incompetent_ _spoiled_ _brat_? I raise you better than that. Do I have to make your brother do your job in your stead?"

"No sir!" Madara answered immediately.

"Good. Now go and do as I ordered you to," Tajima dismissed.

Madara stood up, fuming for his incinerated pride.

"Yes sir," he growled before leaving the room, mustering his remaining dignity and clutching the scroll in his hand none too gently.

Tajima gazed upon his son retreating back. The seal design should occupied the boy's time for the time being, enough for him to stop that weird wandering habit of his. Who knew what kind grave danger that could befall him? He could be kidnapped, tortured, or worse – killed. He knew that the boy was already smarter and stronger than most, but still, he was only a child. It was easy to manipulate him. He was too highly competitive and wanted to be perfect in everything he did to the point of stupidity. Somebody could take advantage of him and Tajima really did not want to deal with that kind of headache now.

They lived in a harsh time, and life was such a fickle thing. One day he would die, and the boy would be the one who had to replace him in leading and guiding the clan. An Uchiha leader had to be strong, there was no room for sentiment, and Tajima would make sure that the boy grew into the leader that the clan needed, even if it was the last thing he did.

Tajima picked up his brush and dipped it into the ink beside it before continuing to write a letter to the Hagoromo Clan's leader, they needed to construct a plan for their upcoming attack to the Senju's Western Camp.

* * *

 **Uchiha Hideout, Land of Fire**

 **Level 1, Prison Section B**

Pitch black substance crawled down the floor, rapidly moving and attaching itself to the wall and the ceiling. The flickering fire from the torches barely made out its irregular shape. Its sticky appearance entirely juxtaposed with the swiftness in which it moved down the barren hallway.

It steadily moved forward, passing room after room and took a sharp turn to its left before moving forward again, heading to the farthest room in the compound.

Once reaching its destination, it easily slipped from the small gap between the door and the floor. Upon its arrival the substance gathered itself, forming a cocoon shaped lump as if slowly twisted and stretched, forming what appeared to be a humanoid figure that lacked any hair or visible orifices. Its yellow eyes, which lacked any visible sclerae or pupils, contrasted heavily against the black mass that formed its body.

It walked closer to prone form of the room's occupant. The woman was sleeping like the dead, not even realizing the presence of the stranger that had sneaked into her confinement. There were dark circles under her eyes, signaling the lack of sleep. Her skin was dry and pale from the lack of sunlight. Her once beautiful feature was gloomy, it had been a while since it was permanently set into its now cadaverous state.

The black mass moved its hand and pressed it against the woman's lower abdomen, searching for a trace of a particular chakra signature that it had sensed.

It stumbled back in surprise when it felt the trace of chakra that was once resided inside the woman. The barely nonexistent trace was almost gone, but it could still feel it as clear as the day – that burning and pulsing chakra that was as fiery as thousand suns but as cold as the darkest side of the moon.

 _No, no, no, no, no,_ _ **N**_ _o, N_ _ **o**_ _,_ N _ **o**_ _,_ _ **NO, NO, NO!**_

 _How dare He?!_

 _How DARE HE?!_

 _ **HOW DARE HE?!**_

 _ **HAGOROMO!**_ It snarled.

It paced, back and forward, from one side of the room to the other, muttering unintelligently under its nonexistent breath.

Once in a while it would stare forlornly at the bright moon that was barely visible from the room's small window, as if asking for some kind of sign or guidance.

Then it went into an abrupt stop and stood perfectly still. It clenched its fists in anger – as if by doing so would crush the windpipe of its source of frustration – before with the same abruptness as before it suddenly dissolved into its previous mucous-like form and crawled into the woman's skin, covering every inch of her. It stayed there for a while, and slowly but steadily the pitch black matter began to seep into woman's skin, and not too long after that the pitch black mass had entirely disappeared into the woman's flesh, returning the pitch black skin into its original pale hue. But now the woman looked stronger and healthier. Her face was no longer gaunt and her lips gained some color.

When the woman opened her eyes again it was no longer black in color, but dark yellow like burned sulfur. The woman had been completely possessed. The forceful takeover had resulted with her imprisonment inside her own mind,

Leaving only Black Zetsu under the mask of Nara Etsuko.

* * *

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	6. Lord Sixth

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"The lion does not need the whole world to fear him, only those nearest where he roams."**_

 _ **A.J. Darkholme, Rise of the Morningstar (The Morningstar Chronicles, #1)**_

* * *

Staring, that was what everyone did.

At his braided hair – _not by his own volition_ , at his flower-patterned yukata – _a piece of clothing which Hitoshi made him wear, and he did not care enough to oppose because it was too bothersome to argue over something superficial_ , at his soft fingers – _there were no callouses on them_ , at his small and delicate frame – _a frame which belonged to someone who did not understand hard work and never broke a sweat throughout their life_.

He was completely out of place.

Shikamaru walked few steps behind a bulky man who acted as his tour guide, an Akimichi, who Shikamaru deducted from the way the trainees treated him with respect was one of the teachers in the barrack, as the man led him through some sort of mess hall that were filled shinobi and trainees alike, who were enjoying breaks after training, missions or whatever it was that they were doing.

He was completely out of place.

Shikamaru could practically see the gears in their heads turning, pondering just what a girl – a _woman_ –, who obviously was not one of the servants, was doing inside a barrack filled with shinobi. While the answer might be obvious, there was no denying that the notion of him being here alone was already quite ridiculous, thus Shikamaru had pretty much resigned himself into being ogled and scrutinized during his seven days stay at the settlement.

They walked past a big door and descended through long rows of stair towards somewhere underground. During their silent outing, they took various twists and turns into another sets of stairs that intersected with the main staircase. Shikamaru inwardly made a mental map of those stairs whilst commending the sophistication of the Dōton user that had built the underground maze. Intruders that had no knowledge of this place would be unable to navigate through the vast expenses of stairs, and knowing his clansmen, probably ended up triggering hidden traps that they had surely laid, never to be seen again.

The stair brought them to a dimly lit corridor which led into three other directions. Shikamaru followed his tour guide as the man headed towards the left corridor. They stopped in front of the last door in the hallway.

The man turned around to face him, his face impassive. "This room will be your accommodation during your stay here, the washroom is over there." He pointed towards the door that was located few meters away from his assigned room. "Training will continue at noon, so you still have few hours to settle yourself." The man's brown eyes then briefly flickered into his attire, his lips curled in distaste. "Do change your clothes, will you? We're not pampering princesses and practicing tea ceremony in here. We don't want your pretty dress to get ruined, do we?" he asked flatly.

Shikamaru only gave the teacher a polite smile, inwardly imagining how it would feel like to stab Hitoshi repeatedly in the stomach. "Yes sir."

The Akimichi was unmoved by his charm. "Any question?"

Shikamaru nodded in affirmative and made a conscious effort to radiate nervousness from his posture. It was an appropriate response for a girl who was standing in a deserted hallway with a stranger. "Uh, yes... where exactly are we, sir? Earlier I saw a boy coming from the corridor few levels above us. Is he not a student too?"

"At least you're not a complete retard," the man muttered under his breath. He did not even bother to put any effort to make sure Shikamaru did not hear it. The insult was quite new though. He was certain that the only one who ever called him stupid was his mother and Etsuko – sweet blasted Etsuko.

"For your information, this hallway hosts the servants' quarters. We both know that you won't be here for long, so there's no point in giving you a real room. You will give up just like others before you," he answered blandly.

"There are other girls?" Shikamaru asked, honestly surprised.

" _Were_. They are all failed, obviously, and they did not even have a time limit like you."

Shikamaru paid no heed on the man's offhand remark, wanting to gather more information instead. "What happens?"

The man shrugged. "They were simply unable to keep up with the training." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Although there was that one girl…"

Shikamaru perked up in interest. "What about her?"

"She was a war salvage from a dead clan," he recounted. "Only taken in out of pity. Quite an adept student, but…"

"What?" Shikamaru urged, his mask momentarily slipping.

"You sure ask a lot of questions," the man commented.

"You offered," Shikamaru countered. Hopefully his curiosity would be dismissed as a harmless interest towards his fellow female ninja wannabe.

"That's true." The man smiled thinly. "You know, you really remind me of your father, always so curious…"

Shikamaru would be honored if the man was talking about Shikaku, but he knew that he wasn't. To be perfectly honest, he really had no trouble with Hitoshi, but the man had grown more troublesome as the time passed, and Shikamaru had considered if it would not have been easier if he simply replaced him with a clone. There was something about the man that was just… _off_. Shikamaru had not determined what, but something about the man really rubbed him the wrong way.

Shikamaru inwardly shrugged the thought away, it was most likely just his annoyance speaking.

"So…?" Shikamaru trailed off.

The man sighed. "I don't know what really happened. At the time she almost finished her training, but…" A troubled look crossed his expression. "That girl, she hung herself."

Shikamaru felt his eyebrows rose into his hairline. "Did she…"

"No, she didn't die." The Akimichi waved away his concern. "Another student saved her just in time. It was your father actually," he said with a hint of pride.

That did sound like the kind of thing that Hitoshi would do, but what was the man even doing in there?

"Where is she now?" he asked. "Do I know her?"

Perhaps once all of this hassle was over Shikamaru could pay her a visit. If all of his efforts turned out to be a failure, the woman could be a valuable tool that could help him escape this place. That was, if the Yamanaka had not wiped her memories first, because Shikamaru would not believe even for a second that these people would let a loose end roam around with the information of their military base.

"Of course you know her, you've met her before. Not in the best circumstance though." The man grimaced.

 _When exactly?_ As far as Shikamaru was concerned, his transmigration into the past was a complete and utter nightmare, thus every second that he spent here would all be classified as an awful circumstance.

The man took note of his confused expression. "Didn't your father ever tell you?"

 _Tell me what?_ Loathe as he was to say it, Shikamaru had to admit that Hitoshi was one of the most tight-lipped bastard he had ever met, a really _fine_ trait for a shinobi.

"You really don't know, do you?" the man muttered lowly, a hint of wonder tinted his voice.

That statement threw Shikamaru off a bit.

"Know what?" Shikamaru disguised his building trepidation under a calm mask.

The man shook his head. "If your own father never tells you about it, then I don't think that it is my place to say it."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Shikamaru stated without hesitation.

He could give two shits about such idealistic principle. Information was information; it could be a difference between life and death. It was not like the woman's identity would kill Hitoshi.

The man grinned, his smile knowing, as if they had just shared a dirty secret. "You really are your mother's daughter, are you?"

Shikamaru would have shuddered in horror if the fact that the man seemed to know everyone and everything that happened around this place did not pique his interest first.

"So…?" he echoed his earlier question.

The man scrutinized him, as if he still was not sure whether he should tell him the information.

Moment passed, and Shikamaru barely suppressed a smirk when the man finally opened his mouth.

"That girl... she was your mother's lover."

Shikamaru felt his brows arched.

"She was Hotaru."

* * *

Shikamaru loosened the collar of his yukata to allow his skin a bit more perspiration.

The heat from the sun pressed in on him. It was high noon and the sun shone with unrestrained brutality, few trees cast patches of half-hearted shade onto the baked courtyard. Sweat trickled down from his forehead to his neck and back in steady flow, his tied hair clung to his head in a pathetic bun. Shikamaru pushed few strands of hair that clung into his face like a leech, inwardly wondering how he could get away with shaving his hair bald without having Hitoshi bitching at him.

He had been following his tour guide – the man finally introduced himself as Daisuke – for the last five minutes as the man marched under the glaring sun towards what Shikamaru suspected was the dojo on top of the hill. By amplifying his senses with chakra, he could hear the sharp clang of woods and metals; smell the rancid male sweats that permeated the air. Shikamaru felt tingles ran down his fingers at the prospect of holding weapons again – the real one at least, not the kitchen knife and the frying pan that he had been using for practice.

By any means, Shikamaru was not a bloodthirsty shinobi, nor was he a sadist. Fighting was not something that he enjoyed – he even only enrolled into the academy out of boredom – he thought it was troublesome, pointless even. But he knew it was not because he was a pacifist, he simply never met opponents that could challenge him and force him to _actually_ fight. Whilst his fight with Hidan _was_ quite enjoyable, the immortal underestimated too much, and burying the man in his backyard became too easy. It was anticlimactic, and all of his battles onwards only felt like a disappointment. He became a Hokage, a miserable bastard who was chained to his damned desk, trying to do the impossible task of upholding the status quo, dealing with morons who refused to compromise, and having diplomatic meetings which produce no actual results whilst the world slowly burnt around him. He only fought out of obligation, not for a cause that he actually believed in.

Shikamaru had come into this barrack with the hope of having an opportunity to meet someone who was both unpredictable and challenging, someone he could beat the shit out of without his conscience constantly nagging at him – he had accumulated quite a significant amount of frustration and loathing towards life in general that sometimes he wondered if he was experiencing a premature case of midlife crisis – thus he was a bit disappointed when Daisuke walked past the foot of the hill into the direction of…

He squinted his eyes,

Of a bunch of children practicing chakra control.

Shikamaru knew why they went there, learning how to utilize one's chakra was the first step in one's training as shinobi. However, despite all of that, he still could not help the wave of indignation that coursed through of his being. As laid-back as he was, he was quite proud of the amount of time and efforts he had poured in improving his skills. To have all of that process and sacrifices dismissed simply because he was stuck inside a little girl was both infuriating and insulting.

"We're going there?"

Daisuke turned his head. "Of course." He then raised his brow, his expression turned condescending. "You don't honestly expect that you can be suddenly adept at shinobi art just because you want to be one, do you?"

Shikamaru did not rise to the bait, his polite smile impeccable. "Of course not. But I think _you_ ," he paused, "no, _everyone_ misunderstood my intention. I'm not here to learn, I'm here to prove my qualification and be a shinobi."

Shikamaru watched as the corners of Daisuke's lips curled involuntarily. The man fought hard to suppress his mirth as his tattooed cheeks swelled momentarily with pressure, but it was no use. His laughter erupted, booming across the spacious clearing as he bent over, slapping his knee repeatedly.

Shikamaru on the other hand could only suppress the unbearable urge to roll his eyes in vexation _._ The man tried too hard to provoke him that it had started to become pathetic. It might have worked if he was an actual immature child, but since he was not, it only caused his annoyance to multiply tenfold. Was this a personality test? Did the man see through his bashful and well-mannered girl persona? Shikamaru was not sure.

"Oy, you're done?" he asked, his tone cold. He might as well give what the man wanted and stop wasting their time.

In a manner akin to a drunken man who suddenly gained sobriety, Daisuke's rambunctious laugh immediately stopped. The man straighten up, his seven-feet high figure towered over him like a parody of David and Goliath, a smug smile stretched over his scarred feature.

"Ah… I was wondering just how long you would keep that ridiculous charade on."

Shikamaru shrugged, he already saw this coming. "I just want to make the best impression. Since it doesn't work, there's no need to keep it up anymore."

Daisuke hummed and tapped his fingers against his chin, as if he was seriously contemplating his theatrical act. "I have to admit, your performance is rather astounding. You almost convince me that you're as dumb as you look." _Ouch._ "Others may not notice it, but I've been teaching for _years_ and met students with various characters. I can see how uncomfortable you are with keeping that smile on your face."

Shikamaru decided to play it dumb, playing the card of an innocent little girl. "That's what my mother taught me to."

"Well she's dead, isn't she?" Shikamaru faked a flinch. "First lesson, you'll go nowhere if you only follow others' direction. You have to be your own person, then and _only_ then that you can bloom into a butterfly."

At least the man had some redeemable qualities. Despite being a bit of a jerk, from the passion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes alone, Shikamaru could see that the man took his profession as teacher seriously and genuinely cared about his students.

"Do you really think that you have what it takes to be a shinobi?" Daisuke's eyes for once were perfectly neutral. There was no judgment or incredulity in those brown orbs, only a simple curiosity.

"I do," Shikamaru answered resolutely.

Daisuke nodded. "Then we'll go to the dojo. We're having a small tournament there. If you win, I'll allow you to participate in training. But if not," the Akimichi's expression hardened, "you'll pack your things, go home, and never set your foot in here again, _ever_. Do we have a deal?"

Shikamaru clasped his hand with the man offered hand, his grip strong. "Deal."

"Then it's settled." he announced. "Follow me."

Shikamaru smirked towards the man's turned back, _gladly_.

* * *

"Boys, this is Nara-chan," Daisuke's large hand roughly patted his shoulder. "Nara-chan, meet the boys."

Shikamaru inclined his head, "Pleased to meet you."

"She will join us for our sparring session this week." Cued, staring. "As usual, the winner will get a reward. In this occasion, the winner will join our guest, Shikadai-kun," Daisuke motioned his hand towards a black haired boy who was leaning in the corner of the room; a sword was strapped at the belt in his waist. Shikadai Nara, the current Nara Clan heir and his future great-grandfather. The boy's resemblance with his descendants was uncanny. It almost felt like he was seeing his old face in the mirror, "with his team on their mission. The field experience will be very valuable for the upcoming evaluation, so make sure to do your best."

"Yes sensei," they chorused.

"This time we will do a Battle Royale. You will work in team of three. If one of the team members is knocked out, the team will be automatically disqualified." Murmurs and groans broke inside the room, not withstanding his. Now he could not pretend to pass out and attack when there was only one team left. _What a drag_.

"Be quiet!" Daisuke spiked his chakra. His eyes narrowed. "You are allowed to use taijutsu and bukijutsu, but no lethal attacks. The last team standing will be the winner. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Now scram!"

As the boys scrambled to form teams, Shikamaru surveyed the weapon pouches that his would-be-opponents had and addressed the man beside him. "Do you have any weapon that I can borrow?"

Daisuke did not spare him a glance. "No. Everyone here makes their own weapon, and you're not an exception."

Shikamaru nodded his head in understanding. It would be for the best not to show any bias, he did not want others to think that he was an inadequate brat who was taken in only out of sheer whining. Though taijutsu was not his main preference, it did not mean that his skill at it was abysmal.

"Alright then. Who will be on my team?"

Daisuke's mouth twitched. "No one. Their numbers are already even, which make you on your own team." _Of course they are_ , and that was why one of the team only had two members. What a load of shit. He redacted his earlier thought. The man was a petty bastard through and through. "It is my sacred duty as a teacher to make sure that everyone under my tutelage reaches their best potential," Daisuke said sagely. "You seem to be very eager to prove your skill, so this could be the chance for you to shine."

It was not the matter of winning. He could kill everyone in this room within ten seconds if he wished to – he was not chosen as Hokage for nothing – and he could be a vicious monster if he preferred to, but he _wouldn't_. Shikamaru was many things, but the thought of beating children just left a sour taste in his mouth, more than killing people in general. He had been hoping that Daisuke would give him needles that he could use to hit those children pressure points and sent them into a painless sleep, or at least a team member that would fight them in his stead. However, he had neither, and now he had to go against something that he believed in and beat those children just to gain a little freedom. He could not even make Daisuke fight him instead, attracting more attention was the last thing that he needed right now. After six years of consecutive waiting – only able to scheme inside his head with no actual chance of escape – he really could not afford to lose. Such a priceless opportunity might not come again.

Shikamaru spared Daisuke one last glance – he would deal with his conscience later, it was now or never – before he walked past the pillars that held the two-story building together into the center of the dojo, where the sparring was being hosted.

Shikamaru avidly observed every twitch of movements his opponents made. The way their eyes darted over each other, scanning for threats. The way their hands hovered over their weapon pouches and the way their muscles tensed in anticipation. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed how Daisuke lifted his right hand into the air.

Shikamaru clenched his hands.

"Begin!"

* * *

Shikamaru jumped back and landed into a halt, his stolen kunai firmly poised in front of him.

This was troublesome. He had been waiting in the corner for most of the time. But as the competitors started thinning, some of them no longer ignored him and decided to attack. They were quite hesitant at first, but after consecutive failures in landing any hit on him, what was left of them started to gang up on him. He had been stalling for a while to tire them up, he'd rather not attack them unless necessary.

Shikamaru noticed the almost indiscernible nod of one of the team leader before two opponents came at him from different directions, aiming for a punch. He smoothly ducked and slid on the wooden dojo floor, letting them to collide with each other. The boss came at him. He jumped when the boy swept under his feet and deflected a kunai that was aimed to his cheek. He kneed the boy's abdomen to reduce their height difference and struck his jaw, knocking him out and effectively disqualifying his team.

Shikamaru rolled away at the last minute to avoid barracks of shuriken that were aimed at him towards a grinning brunette who thought he would not see through his team ploy. Shikamaru evaded his punch, then a kick, and a punch again. When the boy slashed forward with his kunai, Shikamaru crouched low to evade the strike and used his hands as a spring before landing a firm kick onto the boy's chest, sending him tumbling into the floor. He breathed out a relieved sigh when he noticed him breathing. He did not hit too hard then.

Shikamaru wiped the dust and sweat that glistened his palms as he walked towards Daisuke's direction, ignoring the butthurt boys who were not-so-secretly glaring at him. His nonchalant expression and slouched posture only managed to aggravate them even more, _good_. To be able to survive in the shinobi world, one had to understand humility and know when it was the time to make tactical retreat, regardless of what one's pride might dictate.

He kind of understood their feelings. They already trained since they could walk, but here he was, an oddball who suddenly came out of nowhere with abilities already on par with them if not more, and he was only using taijutsu and bukijutsu. It was not even his fault, it was not like it was an everyday occurrence for some random ninja to suddenly be sent into the past and trapped inside a baby's body, and he needed to flaunt some skills to sway Daisuke to put in good words about him to the Clan Head – no matter how unlikely it was since the man was such an ass. So if they wanted to vent their anger at someone, they were welcomed to complain to whatever person or thing that had placed him here – or just kicked Hitoshi in the balls, since the man helped to conceive Shikari.

Shikamaru stopped in front Daisuke's line of sight. The man was leaning against the railing on the second floor with Shikadai lounging beside him. The man's expression was unreadable, the light that had filtered through the window only managed to highlight the scar that ran from his cheek to his jaw even more, making him look more intimidating. But there was this teeny-tiny smile that graced his lips, it was barely visible, but it was there.

It made him wary. He did not like it at all.

"Good performance Nara-chan. I know my trust in you is not mistaken."

 _Trust my ass_ , he scoffed inwardly. But still, Shikamaru respectfully bowed his head in mandatory gratitude. "Thank you sir."

The man gave a tiny acknowledgment and averted his eyes to the other trainees. "Do you know what you did wrong?"

An auburn haired boy, one of the last trainees to be eliminated stepped forward. "We underestimated her, sensei."

" _Very_." Daisuke gave them a stern look. "Everyone is potentially dangerous, _everyone_. No matter how frail looking your opponent may be, remember to always face them seriously. Is that clear?"

"Yes sensei!" they chorused.

"Good. Now make the seal of reconciliation."

Shikamaru smiled and offered his hand to a boy nearest to him. "Peace?"

After a small hesitation, the Yamanaka locked his fingers against him and replied with a smile of his own, "Peace."

Shikamaru continued to do so with the others. Some were reluctant whilst some were indifferent; some refused and glared at him as if he had a particularly contagious case of leprosy. Oh well, all least he did not accidentally kill anyone.

"Nara-chan, as promised, you can join us for the next seven days. I will not go easy on you, so prepare yourself," Daisuke ordered. "Be ready for your mission at six. Shikadai-kun will meet you at the mess hall. Remember not to be late and make a fool out of yourself."

"Yes sir." The girl bowed and walked out of the dojo.

Once the girl slid the door closed, Daisuke averted his gaze towards his students and straightened.

"The rest of you, go to the courtyard and practice your katas, _barefoot_. Whilst doing so, reflect on how and why can you lost from a scrawny little _girl_. You're an embarrassment not only to yourself, but to me and your family."

"I expect you to be better. I _want_ you to be better. I don't ask much of you, I simply want you to survive. And to be able to survive, you have to be strong. I have had enough of my former students' deaths weighing down on me, and I don't need yours too." Daisuke paused to let his words sunken in. "Now go," he dismissed, his tone deathly soft.

They quietly shuffled and walked out of the dojo, their shame was palpable and clogging the air. Daisuke on the other hand allowed himself a liberty of a smile at sight. It appeared he still had not lost his touch.

"Ne… sensei, aren't you too harsh on them?" the voice beside him chimed.

Daisuke scoffed. "You're the one to talk, as if you weren't the one who suggested a Battle Royale in the first place."

Shikadai shrugged. "We need to test just how far they would go to follow their order, how far their loyalty run with their comrades. Granted, we can't exactly have an accurate data without making them kill each other, but they are obedient enough. They work together pretty well despite being tasked to eliminate each other."

"That's mostly because they all have a common enemy." His gaze fixed on the now deserted dojo.

"That may be true, but my point still stands nonetheless." Shikadai rested his chin on top of his folded hands. "You're going to use her as a bait, aren't you? 'Favor one person to motivate the others', that's why you compliment her in such a public manner. You do know that the others are going to give her a hard time, right?"

"She will handle it. She _has_ to if she wants to stay here. Although her movements are a bit stiff and shaky, she has potential. It will be beneficial for everyone. Plus, the isolation should tone down her arrogance and make her stronger." _Or lead into a mental breakdown_ , was left unsaid.

Shikadai grunted noncommittally.

The girl _is_ good. She fought well and knew how to take advantage of her situation. She stayed calm even though she was surrounded from all sides. And that gait of her, he did not think of it as arrogance, she was simply confident in what she was doing. The girl was smart, her movements were calculated, and she acknowledged her weakness. What she lacked in strength, she complemented it with her agility. However, the girl had one fatal shortcoming. It was obvious from the way she always pulled her punches back at last second that she was hesitant in hurting her opponents, that was why her movements were spasmodic. She did not want to hurt others, as expected from a woman.

Then why bother?

Why did she want to be a shinobi when she was unwilling to do the dirty deeds that came with it?

Such an odd girl.

…

Unbeknownst to them, the topic of their conversation was standing outside the building, hearing their whole conversation with chakra enhanced ears.

* * *

Solitude of silence hung around him. Only the beats of his heart could be heard amongst the hooting of owls and the chirping of crickets. The moon was a ghostly-sliver orb hanging in the lonely sky. Its beams were slightly obscured by drifting clouds, alternately casting lights and shadows over the land. His eyes flickered down from his position on the thick, dark branch of the tall tree that he perched on, towards the interlocking branches of trees below him. The trees were densely packed together, a perfect place for ninja to travel.

Shikamaru should have been doing patrols with Shikadai and his lackeys, but naturally, he bailed out and wandered few miles away from their settlement's border. He had tasked one of his clones to do the patrol in his stead whilst the other one explore the terrain and mapped it. He himself was stargazing, or at least he _was_ going to until he remembered that today was a full moon. If its bright light had not washed out all but the brightest stars already, those grey-white clouds surely would have.

Shikamaru had intended to do something productive as an alternative, but then the moon reminded him of Kaguya, and Kaguya reminded him about Konoha, which in turn reminded him of his unborn comrades and his peculiar situation. Thus, for the last two hours, he had been sitting here, contemplating about his existence and whether he had any purpose by being here – _Was he being punished? Was this a second chance? Was he a mistake? What was he even doing?_ Shikamaru had planned many scenarios inside his head, from something perfectly innocuous into something that was completely outrageous. He had so many things that he wanted to do but at the same time _don't_ , because doing things required investing one's time, thoughts, and efforts into them – he really did not feel like it – and he could only spam so many clones from his average chakra reserve to run his errands before he finally dropped dead from chakra exhaustion.

Shikamaru stopped his line of thoughts and groaned. This just proved it, he was having a midlife crisis – or was it a quarter-life? – He still would not reach that age for another two decades or so, but he felt so tired and old and bored already, absolutely _bored_. And in his boredom, he would have started another round of meaningless debate with himself if not for the influx of chakra and memories that suddenly entered him. He almost fell out of the tree if not for his quick reflex.

Shikamaru frowned. His scouting clone had been dispelled. Its last memory was that it was harmlessly mapping an area and minding its own business, before it was roughly shoved into the tree bark and met its demise. But _who_ killed it?

His mind flickered to the area that it had been scouting. He racked his brain for the map that Shikadai had shown him before the mission and recreated it inside his head. He remembered that there were dots with clans' insignias scribbled under them scattered on it, Shikadai explained that they were the general location of other clans' hideouts and guard posts in relative with their border, a.k.a. the places that they should avoid during their patrol if they did not want to be dragged into a fight. He mentally calculated the distance that his clone would have reached with its average speed – taking into account of the limited visibility of the forest and the various stops that it would certainly take to fulfill its duty – and came to the conclusion that it would have trespassed someone else's territory by now.

 _But where?_

Shikamaru hopped and balanced himself at the top of the tree to search for the Polaris. He traced his finger against the dark sky and imagined the connecting lines from the Big Dipper. _There!_ If he were facing the north, that would mean that he had come from the south, which meant his clone had gone to the north-east, and the north-east was…

Uchiha hideout?

Shikamaru pressed his palm against his face in a mixture of chronic embarrassment and exasperation.

That _moron_! What was it doing there? Had he not given it an explicit instruction to _stay away_ from other clans? The only plausible explanation that Shikamaru could come up with was that the clone had stumbled upon something very worthwhile, so much that it was willing to disobey its creator order and travel that far to explore the area. _But what?_

Shikamaru inspected his clone's memories again. The terrains it mapped looked relatively average for Land of Fire. There was a river that he recognized as one that connected it to the Land of Rivers. However, other than that, there was nothing distinctive.

What then? What did it find?

Technically speaking, he still had four hours before his shift was over, and theoretically, that should be enough time for him to travel there and return to the border again. However, so many things could go wrong within the span of few hours, and Shikamaru was not sure if he was willing to disturb the temporary balance and tranquility that he had worked so hard to achieve for something that might not actually worth the effort. On the other hand, there was this nagging voice inside his head, claiming about how he would get nowhere with his unwillingness to take what he opinionated as an unnecessarily dumb risk, about how he was avoiding his maximum potential and missed an opportunity to grow.

He snorted. _I can't grow if I'm dead, am I?_

 _But what if I don't?_ He thought again. What if he actually found something important, an important piece of puzzle that could make some sense into his situation? Besides, loitering around someone else's territory was not exactly a crime as long as one did not get caught, and sneaking around was something that had become one of his best specialty.

Shikamaru sighed, the hell with it. He had nothing else to do anyway. He tightened the clasps of his too-big armor and jumped into the lower tree branch, before he broke into a run towards his clone's latest location.

Whatever happens, happens.

* * *

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	7. Fire Meet Gasoline

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"Thousands of cherry trees dissolve into the night**_

 _ **You will sing, and I will dance**_

 _ **This is a banquet inside a steel jail cell,**_

 _ **So shoot randomly and ceaselessly with your ray gun"**_

 _ **Vocaloid, Senbonzakura**_

* * *

Pinpointing his clone's last known location, it appeared, was harder than he expected. Quite understandable, since the only thing that he could rely upon as a direction was a slowly diminishing memory of his clone's little adventure through what in all honesty was a tenebrous and indistinct land of overgrown vegetation.

His situation brought him both joy and dismay. Joy that his clone was able to infiltrate a formidable enemy's territory whilst wholly suppressing its chakra – leaving little to no trace in its wake; and dismay – dismay that tracking the paths that it had taken became such a nuisance, and that he had to face the probabilities of his clone either became defected enough to let its presence be known, or that he was facing against foes that were able to sense others' presences even when their chakra had been fully suppressed. Neither scenario was preferable.

Shikamaru continued to traverse through the vast expanse of the jungle for the next half-hour. His pace was lax, but steady. His eyes were alert, constantly scanning his surrounding for signs of traps and threats whilst at the same time searching for any distinctive landmark that might have attracted his clone.

It was when Shikamaru was perched atop one of the taller trees that he felt faint presences ahead of him. He was not a sensor ninja; his limited ability to sense chakra was earned through years of grueling experience of being a shinobi. He could not determine their exact number from his current distance – only providing a rough estimation – but he was confident that they were below ten. After a split-second in which he mulled over whether he should follow them, Shikamaru decided to take risk and postponed his current objective. Whoever it was that he was sensing, they were moving very fast – as if chasing after something; a trespasser most likely.

Not too long after he started his pursuit, Shikamaru found himself standing in a battleground littered with six death bodies – all of which were warriors of the Senju Clan. One of them was half-submerged in the river – a river which he recognized as the one that he saw in his clone's memory – one was being eaten by herd of crows, whilst the rest were pierced by multiple weapons in various places.

Shikamaru frowned. His forehead creased in thought.

No wonder his trip was unhindered. The shinobi who were supposed to be on patrols must have been busy with killing their archenemy.

He better saved the remaining Senju then. He owed them at least that much for keeping the patrolling team out of his back.

Shikamaru wasted no time and quickly salvaged multitude of weapons and equipment from the dead shinobi. He felt slightly bad about it – who knew if their families wanted to keep them as a memento – but as of now Shikamaru was quite desperate. He did not have any proper weapon on his person, prick-sensei made sure of it, and relying on ninjutsu was simply not efficient. It was illogical to sacrifice his limited chakra reserve when he could use free and disposable weapons instead. Not to mention, the surge of chakra would no doubt attract unwanted attention. As a sign of gratitude, he used a specific type of scroll that he had found, the one that was used to contain dead body, and sealed each of them within separate scrolls. The least that he could do was ensuring that they were returned to their families to receive a proper burial.

Once he was done, he immediately continued his pursuit to save the remaining clansmen. He pumped his chakra into his short legs and pushed them to their limit. Within short time, he already closed in the considerable distance and getting closer to the lads in distress and their band of stalker. He followed them as they tread along the border, crisscrossing creeks and meadows alike in a game of cat and mouse. He then felt the presences dispersed, the pursuer most likely had decided to split up and cornered their target. Before long, the presences had all come into a halt in the no-man's-land ahead of the Uchiha's border – the east one, he concluded – which meant somewhere in the distance would be the Senju's territory, he belatedly realized. He'd better finished his deed quick, he did not want to be caught in whatever tug of war that they were having.

Shikamaru decreased his speed and forego running altogether, opting for a stealthier approach. His steps were light, producing no sound as he silently danced around the trees, tiptoeing beneath the protective cover of the shadow with practiced ease. His chakra was cloaked under chakra disguise. If anyone were to detect him, they would sense a squirrel instead. He then sneaked as close as he could to his targets, hiding behind a tree trunk and assessed his situation.

There were five hostiles, Uchiha insignia was proudly emblazoned on the back of their attires. They were not decked in armor, but they were heavily armed. Shikamaru slipped his hand into his pilfered weapon pouch, his eyes were trained to his enemies and surrounding whilst his hands worked to prepare his weapons.

Shikamaru could not see the Senju clearly, but he could hear him panting from exhaustion. He sounded young.

There were five seconds of silence before one of Uchiha suddenly moved, flicking his kunai to the cornered shinobi. Shikamaru sprang into action and deftly threw the needles in his hands. One deflected the kunai's trajectory, one hit an Uchiha dead in the neck – rendering him unconscious – whilst the others missed their targets entirely. They still served their purpose nevertheless, which was to attract the hostiles' attention.

Taking advantage of human's natural instinct to look towards disturbance, Shikamaru started his assault by sending two flash bombs towards them, temporarily blinding their sharingan. Knowing that they would rely on their other senses, Shikamaru sent another barrage of needles that were tied with bells as a cover.

What transpired next could only be described as a needle shower, literally. Shikamaru threw barrage upon barrage of needles to his opponents from his position at the top of the tree, some were laced with sedative (or was it poison? He did not have the time to check). Knowing that their eyes would able them to predict the needles' movements, he threw another batch of flash bombs towards them. Not giving them a chance to recover, Shikamaru pulled the strings that were attached to the bells on the previous barrage of needles and rang them from unexpected positions, distracting his opponents long enough for him to rain them with needles again. The fact that they gave a false pretense about his actual number and location did not hurt either.

Shikamaru only stopped once the shouts of threats and curses had stopped, once he had heard the thuds of all the bodies hitting the ground. He might have gone overboard with his approach, but he did not want to take any risk with using ninjutsu. Who knew if one of them was a sensor? It was better to stay anonymous.

Shikamaru was about to come out of his hiding place when he heard someone groaned.

Earlier, he had decided to use needles because he preferred not to kill anyone. However, since he had to protect his own eyes from the bombs, he had no option but to throw them blind (even his ears were useless; he could detect their position, but he could not 'see' the body parts that he should aim), thus he had to rely on their quantity instead. Now his needle supply was pretty much gone.

Troublesome.

Shikamaru darted his eyes to the surrounding branches, searching for something that could be used as an impromptu weapon. He glanced up and down, left and right. _Oh, there!_

As quick as lighting, he immediately plucked the gruff looking mammal that was perching by the branch in his right, and hurtled it towards the last man standing. Shikamaru regretted it a second later when he realized that his target was actually the Senju shinobi that he was supposed to save.

Too bad for him, the Senju was too disoriented to dodge the oncoming missile. The black and white mammal hit him square in the abdomen before it bounced off of his green armor. Shikamaru grimaced when the skunk suddenly turned, barring its behind to the world and sprayed the poor guy.

Thankfully the boy still had enough sense to protect his head from the full onslaught, although he did look like he was torn between bursting into tears and quenching his urge to vomit.

The boy could not be older than ten, probably around eight or nine. His appearance was a bit strange. His hair consisted of two-toned hair, with one side being black and the other half being white with matching eyebrows. Shikamaru might not have an in-depth knowledge in genetics, but he knew enough that hereditary simply did not work like – well… _that_. Honestly, he kind of looked like a skunk. Who knew, perhaps the skunk had sprayed him because it thought the boy was another skunk who was trespassing its territory. Even better, the skunk might have been trying to court the boy because it thought the boy made an attractive skunk.

Oh well…

Banishing the ridiculous thought from his mind, Shikamaru swiftly created a clone and tossed it the scrolls that contained the Senju corpses. He was willing to help, but there was _no way_ that he would move an inch closer to the skunk boy. His clone would be enough.

The clone applied a transformation technique to alter its appearance as per its creator's standard protocol before it jumped to the ground, shuffling slightly at the grass beneath its feet.

Skunk boy tensed.

"Peace," the clone stated. It held its hands up in what it believed to be a nonthreatening gesture. "I simply want to help." It gestured to the needles that nicked the boy's left leg.

"But I'm stink, like really stink." The boy sniffled. His nose was scrunched up as he suffered from the abuse to his olfactory system.

"Don't worry," it assured, "I've smelt worse."

The boy nodded tersely, offering no further answer.

The clone came closer and knelt beside the boy. He handed it a first aid kit from his pouch. The clone gestured for the boy to extend his leg.

"What's your name?" the clone asked conversably as it applied pressure around the needle before it plucked out the needle with its gloved hand.

Skunk boy winced. "Itama. What's yours?"

"My name is not important." It plucked another needle. "The real question is what are you doing here? You're far from home."

"That's none of your business. What are you – ouch, careful there! – What are _you_ doing here?"

"I was exploring the land, but I got lost." The clone rolled the boy's pants and fishnet up before it applied pressures to the wounds with a clean cloth. "Somewhere along the way I found the battlefield with your dead clansmen in it. I felt your presence, and them," it gestured to the unconscious bodies beside them, "and I decided to help."

The clone slipped its free hand into its pocket and tossed the scrolls in his pocket to the boy's lap. "Here."

"Are these?" Itama asked uncertainly. His eyes flickered back and forth between the stranger and the all-too-familiar scrolls.

"Yeah, they should return to their family. But I kind of scavenge their weapons to save you, so yeah, sorry about that," the clone continued sheepishly.

"Oh wow… I, I don't know what to say. That's… that's very kind of you. Sometimes they don't even return, but when they do…" Itama smiled ruefully, blinking back his tears at the memory. "Kawarama, he came back in pieces..." the boy muttered to himself, voice barely audible.

The clone shifted uncomfortably.

Itama cleared his throat. "Anyway, you can keep the weapons. You'll need them to defend yourself. The Uchiha are over there." He jutted his chin to the forest behind them. "They're ruthless. It's the least that we can give you."

"Thank you."

Itama nodded. "No problem." He averted his gaze away from the clone. "You were really cool back then – a bit crazy, but still… all of them down within ten seconds." He laughed bitterly. "I wish I was that strong."

"Hey, a kid against five grown men is not a fair fight. The fact that they went after you proves that they think of you as someone powerful." The clone smiled warmly, the gesture seemed to ease the boy a bit. "Um, do you happen to know the thing that coats the needles? I got them from the guy with scar in his cheek. There's a possibility that you might be poisoned," it warned.

"Yeah, that's Akio-san," Itama smiled thinly, "and it's hemlock," he informed. "But I'm already immune to it."

The clone nodded its head, cataloguing the information it had acquired. Hemlock, it echoed inside its mind. The other thing that he noticed was the fact that the boy said _already_ , which meant his immunity towards the poison was built up with time, not as the part of his innate immune system. Boss might be interested in it. Then there was the matter of the needles themselves. It was unclear whether they were sterile or not, thus there was a possibility that skunk boy would suffer from tetanus. The lack of vaccine in this era was concerning. However, Boss did not give any further instruction on how to deal with it.

"Okay… But do you have the antidote? Just in case," the clone inquired as it swiped a bit of alcohol around the wounds for precaution. It then wrapped the boy's leg with a bandage before it rolled down the boy's pants and fishnet to their earlier position.

"I'll do it at home," Itama answered briskly.

The clone almost chuckled at the misleading answer. It would bet its imaginary money that the boy had the antidote in his person, but refused to reveal its existence, probably to prevent Boss from using his own clansman's weapon against him. Rule number one on utilizing poison as a weapon was to always have the antidote, no matter what. The boy was already at a disadvantage as it was, he knew that he was not in the position to strike a bargain – he even let Boss kept those weapons just to appease him – thus he would hold onto the only bargaining chip he had, which was an antidote that would be ready to use in case Boss suffered from the effect of the hemlock.

Boss was not an amateur though, and he was definitely not reckless enough to accidentally poison himself, but the clone indulged the skunk boy anyway. "Of course," the clone said with a smile.

The clone then stood and extended its hand to help the boy. "Can you find your own way home?"

Itama tightly gripped the shorter boy's hand and pulled himself up. He moved his toes and stretched his legs, he seemed to be good to go. "Yep, definitely."

The clone nodded. "I'm going to be very honest with you. You smell awful, _absolutely_ awful, and you will remain so for the next few days, a week even. So if you have even a shred of sympathy towards your family, you will shower at somewhere secluded. Don't do it at the river though, keep that whiff of hell to yourself."

Itama groaned, but a hint of genuine smile touched his lips. "Ugh, don't remind me, I'm traumatized enough. It's your fault anyway."

"Still better than being dead."

Itama waved his hands. The disgusting and noxious odor clung around him like a second skin. "Aren't I already?"

"Don't be dramatic." The clone rolled its eyes good-naturedly. "Just use tomato. It won't completely remove the stench, but at least you won't smell as vile."

"I hate tomato. It's gross."

The clone shrugged. "If you want to stay that way then be my guest."

Skunk boy bit his lower lip. "Let's just say I'm willing to try it, so how should I do it?"

The clone tilted its head. "Well, have someone pour tomato juice all over your skin while you stand in the bath. What doesn't stick to your skin will drain into the bath water. So sit down and soak yourself in it for another 15 or 20 minutes. Use as little water as possible – but still covers you completely – because you want the tomato juice's concentration to be as high as possible. Oh, and don't forget to rinse it through your hair a couple of times too. You have to do it until the smell wear off." It paused. "I think that's pretty much it."

Itama shuddered, as if the thought of bathing in the red fruit physically pained him. Was it because the color reminded him of blood? "Don't you have any other alternative?"

"Of course, I have. It's an instant one, in fact." Not even a skunk's spray could stand in the way of hydrogen peroxide and baking soda. "But my employee is the one that can make it, so you have to buy it." Because there was no way that Boss would be willing to synthesize the former for free, especially since they were stuck in this backwater era, but he might be with the right incentive.

"How much?"

The clone shrugged. "He doesn't need money, he prefers information instead."

"About what?"

"Normally, who's friends with whom, who their enemies are – boring sort of things. But currently he's interested with geography, especially of the Land of Fire, so you can probably barter the potion with a map."

"A map, huh?" Itama nibbled his lip. "Is he the one who sent you to… what did you call it, _explore_ , the enemy's territory in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah." The clone scratched the back of its head, acting bashful. "He makes bizarre request most of the time, but he's alright. He gives me food and shelter, teaches me how to defend myself… that's more than what anyone else would have given me. So yeah, I'll happily explore the enemy's territory for him."

Itama stared at the clone. Myriad of emotions flickered through his eyes, ranging from sympathy, understanding, sadness, and the most profound of all – respect.

The clone felt like a scum.

"I'll consult with my brothers first before I make any decision, but I... I'll definitely think about it."

The clone smiled, its expression betrayed nothing. "Well… if you're interested, tomorrow you can come to the civilian village just few miles south-east of here." A clone could sneak out and delivered the skunk remedy potion in Boss' stead. "You better hurry before you accidentally kill someone with your stench though," it jested as an afterthought.

Itama laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "I don't know how you haven't gotten fired yet, but you're an awful merchant."

The clone gasped dramatically, clutching its chest. "How could you?! You wound my fragile heart."

Itama managed to stifle his laugh, but he failed to keep the smile off of his face. "Stop it." The clone made a stupid face. "Kami, you're ridiculous." The boy shook his head. "I'll never return home if you keep on making stupid jokes."

"They make you laugh, don't they?"

"Yes… yes, they do." Itama smiled softly. "Thank you for that, and for saving my life."

The clone grinned. "No problem. We, child soldiers, always keep each other's back."

The boy gave him one last smile before he turned on his heels and disappeared into the tree line.

The clone tilted its head. It waited until it could no longer sense the boy's presence.

"Mission accomplished…" it muttered under its breath before it dispelled itself.

Shikamaru opened his eyes when the influx of chakra and memories entered him. It was nice of the clone to try to cheer the boy up. However, the rest of their conversation, baring the identity of the poison, pretty much went over his head.

Hemlock was a nasty plant. In sufficient doses it acted as paralyzer to the centers of motion, perfect to immobilize someone. However, overdose could lead to respiratory depression (central depression was also a possibility), which in turn could lead to asphyxia, and eventually – death. The scariest part was the fact that the mind remained unaffected until the last.

Whilst his clone was conversing with the young Senju, Shikamaru had been keeping tabs on his victims, making sure that he had not accidentally offed them. So far he had not, but the chance that none of them were hit by poisonous needles was minuscule at best, and Shikamaru refused to be held responsible for making angry Uchiha storming at his home turf. The Senju could have them all for themselves, Shikamaru could not care less.

Shikamaru jumped into the ground and supervised his practice targets. One man was unconscious. The other four were still conscious, but paralyzed. He hovered over the paralyzed men, checking their breathing. One had a particularly shallow breathing, he was very pale.

Shikamaru knelt down beside him, putting a kind smile on his face. "Hey there, just hang on a bit. I'm going to help you, okay?"

Only a stare replied him. The man's pupils were blown wide.

Shikamaru slid his hand into his back pocket where he kept his first aid kit and unseal a bag valve mask. (Nara Clan might not be the primary choice when it came to guerrilla warfare and the likes, but when it came to the field of medicine, they would always be the most advanced.) However, just as he was about to position the mask, he heard the crunching of dry twigs from his left. He masked his frown when he did not sense anything.

Shikamaru sighed. "You do realize that there's no point in hiding anymore, do you? I know you're there."

No response.

"Look, I still have four other people to attend to. So instead of being a creepy stalker, why don't you just help me with them instead?"

The stranger came closer. Shikamaru looked up.

"I don't know what your problem is, but normal people won't hurt others just to heal them again."

* * *

When he went on a patrol tonight, Madara did not expect for anything peculiar to happen in his daily routine. He had woken up early in the morning, he had trained, and then he had showered and studied before he returned to tinker with the seal that he had been working on. So far he had made little to no progress with it. He still had not figured out how to bypass the energy issue.

Although his last few days had been nothing but an endless headache and frustration, Madara still refused to give up. His pride would not let him admit defeat. However, as much as he liked to think of himself as an optimist, he was not blind enough as to not acknowledge the fact that he was going nowhere, thus he decided to take a break and do patrol instead. There was always something interesting happening in the forest, and if he were to do something productive, he might as well amuse himself.

Madara patrolled around the border. On his way he had witnessed a trespasser exploding to pieces after the idiot had idiotically steeped into a mine. He had lingered for a while, unsure about what he should do. He eventually walked away when he realized that he did not care. He then had found a couple making out beneath a tree – Madara was pretty sure that they were sibling – it was gross, and he hoped they got struck by lightning, despite the chance that it happened was rather unlikely. His patrol went more mundane after that, there were no trespassers, nothing interesting happened either. That was until he found the explorer.

The explorer was small. He was also young, younger than Izuna. For a while Madara had entertained the idea that the boy was lost – since he was only walking around like he did not even know his own destination – but the strange boy quickly proved that he was, in fact, exploring. He would check the soil, the trees, the fruits – anything that he could touch. It appeared the boy was not even aware that he was in the enemy's territory (perhaps he didn't care). However, what made Madara wary of him was the fact that he could not sense him, at all, even when he could definitely confirm with his own two eyes that he existed and was not just the part of an elaborate illusion his mind had conjured. Madara then sneaked up on him, intending to discover his identity. But when Madara pushed him into a tree – perhaps a bit too roughly – the explorer simply disappeared in a poof of smoke.

It was _weird_.

Madara continued to patrol about an hour or so after that, hunting small animal and just walking around in boredom since nothing interesting had occurred. He was about to go home when he heard shouting nearby. He suppressed his chakra and break into a run. He hid behind a tree and arrived just in time to witness his clansmen being attacked by barrage of needles. He stayed put of course, because someone had to assess the level of threat for future intel.

What happened next was very strange. Senju boy was sprayed by a skunk (Madara almost cackled when he saw it), then the assailants revealed themselves as an assailant – a very small assailant which also turned out to be the explorer. Madara watched as he (She? It?) patched up the Senju boy and sent him away, before he disappeared again. Then another explorer – were they the same person? – dropped down from the tree and moved closer to his clansmen. She (the face was too feminine to be a boy – but then again, some boys did have a feminine faces, so it was debatable) unsealed a weird contraption and brought it closer to the man. In his hurry to take a closer look, Madara unknowingly stepped on dry twigs and gave away his position.

He knew of course that there was no point in hiding anymore, so he revealed himself. He had prepared himself for a fight – almost craving for it, in fact. However, as usual, things did not go as planned. One thing led to another, and now he was obediently sitting on the ground, holding the mask to Isamu-san's face whilst the explorer's earth clone pumped air into his lungs. The explorer herself was tending to the other four.

"How are they?" the boy inquired curiously.

Shikamaru looked up.

"This guy," Shikamaru gestured to the man that he had struck in the neck, a bandage wrapped around his neck, "will need one week to recover. He may look dead, but he's actually not, so don't accidentally bury him. They on the other hand," Shikamaru nodded to the three men he had just finished tending to, "should be fine in few hours. The poison mostly affects the skeletal muscle and some, but their heartbeat and breathing are fine. I've put them to sleep to let them rest." He also had sent a controlled burst of chakra into their brain stem to replace their recollection of him and his clone with that of a complete stranger, but the boy did not need to know that.

Shikamaru averted his gaze to the man that was lying few feet away from him. "Has his breathing improved?" The man was hit by the poisonous needles in various places, most likely because he took the brunt of them for his teammates.

The boy pursed his lips, he looked worried. "He regains his color back, but I don't think he's even breathing on his own anymore."

Shikamaru checked his pulse. _Too slow_ , he thought. "Alright. He's getting worse. I'll have to extract the poison."

Madara glared at the girl. "And it never occurs to you to do that before he's dying?!"

"This poison doesn't have a median lethal dose, I don't know how each person is going to react to it. It usually takes 3 hours to kill, but this guy is already dying within thirty. The treatment is also symptomatic, so yeah, I have to wait until the symptoms show. If I took any action before that, I might make his condition worse." Shikamaru explained calmly. "I'm going to be honest with you though. The procedure that I'm going to do is extremely pain–"

"Just fix him already!" the boy snapped.

Shikamaru scowled. "Jeez, fine." Shikamaru removed his gloves and started cutting the man's shirt in the middle, muttering under his breath about unruly brat who did not respect his elder as he did so. "There's no need to shout you troublesome boy…"

Shikamaru glanced up and addressed his clone. "Keep me updated with his vitals. Make sure he's breathing." His eyes flickered to the boy. "Once I removed the poison, he'll start to regain his muscle control back and start struggling. Can you make one or two clones to restrain him?"

The boy nodded. "Just tell me when to make them."

Shikamaru nodded curtly. He channeled chakra into his hands, and they both glowed green.

* * *

"Boss… he's having a seizure. His heartbeat is elevating very fast."

"…."

"Boss!"

"Just hold on for a second, I'm almost done!"

The boy's clone scrambled to hold the man down.

"No, don't stop his movement! Just let it happen!"

.

.

.

"Wow…"

"What is it now?"

"Shit, no wonder he's dying. I'm surprised he survives this long. He has dextrocardia, probably situs inversus too."

"What do _those_ even mean? Speak clearly!"

"It means the apex of his heart is located on the right side of his body, as opposed to the left side – where it normally is."

"That needle hit him in the heart?!"

.

.

"His heart is not beating!"

"Boss?"

"CPR," he ordered.

Shikamaru pushed his chakra into the man, mending where the poison had affected the heart muscle.

.

.

"It's not working, he's dead…"

"Not yet."

"What do you mean not yet?!"

"Boss, your chakra control is not good enough for _it_ , and we have no defibrillator." _Not even electricity._

"We can still do an open cardiac massage."

"A what…?"

"Boss will manually pump his heart, with hi– her hand."

" _What_?!"

"If it's any consolation, my hand is very small. I don't need a big incision."

"…."

"Uchiha-san, we don't have much time."

"…You're crazy." Madara looked away. "Please save him."

"…I'll try."

* * *

"Drink this." Madara shoved the bottle into the crazy girl's face.

The girl blankly eyed the liquid.

Madara sighed and took an exaggerated sip. "See, not poisonous."

The girl took the bottle from him and emptied it in record time. "You got another?"

Madara frowned, but he handed her his spare water anyway. He did not know where she had learned it, or which clan that possessed such knowledge, but the girl had done an amazing feat.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly.

"Like I'm dying." The girl swallowed three ration pills. "How about you? You're not going to puke on me, are you?"

"I'm fine," Madara mumbled, feeling heat creeping up to his neck at the reminder of the incident which they shall never spoke about again. "I'm feeling a bit disgusted," the girl snorted, "but mostly fine."

Silence descended between them. The girl shifted and leaned against the tree bark. The moonlight illuminated her dark eyes, those blank canvas devoid of emotion were deep in thought. Madara on the other hand shifted on his feet, unsure whether he should stay or look after his clansmen. Isamu-san was no longer within grave danger, and he, just like the others, was now sleeping. Even if Madara decided to keep an eye on them, he could see his clansmen from here just fine, thus returning there again felt a bit redundant.

"Are you really just going to stand there all night?" The girl broke him out of his reverie. She patted the ground beside her. "Sit. They won't go anywhere, you know."

Madara sat beside her. "I know, it's just… habit, I guess." He picked a small rock and fiddled it.

The girl glanced at him, her brows arched. "How long have you been a shinobi?"

Madara pressed his lips together, but decided not a second later that the question was harmless.

"Five years, I think. I started when I was around your age." Madara inwardly wondered how the girl became a shinobi – if she was even one, she could be lying for all he knew – he had never seen a girl shinobi before.

"And you don't get sick of it?"

"Of course I am," Madara admitted. Philosophical discussion was acceptable, he decided. "All of this pointless killing and destruction, the slaughter of countless children..." Madara frowned in disgust. "They always target children first – to lower the clan's moral, making sure they never reach adulthood."

"But that's just what it means to be a shinobi. Death is always knocking at our door. From what I can tell, the only way we can avoid that is to be honest and upfront with the other side, form an alliance with them. Perhaps even, I don't know, live together – coexist in a same place, instead of being so damn suspicious with each other." Madara propelled the rock. It embedded itself on the tree trunk ahead of him with a satisfying thud.

"But that's just a wishful thinking – a _crazy_ and _stupid_ wishful thinking. We're all too proud to allow ourselves to be that vulnerable. I mean, who knows, perhaps the Senju doesn't hate my clan as much as we think. Perhaps peace isn't just a childish dream. Perhaps it's more than just my imagination. I don't know if everlasting peace is something feasible, but every day… every day I hope that someone will find a way to make it comes true."

The girl smiled. Her gaze faraway. "That will be nice, won't it? Not having to constantly worry about your life, being assured that your loved ones is not in danger. Not having to distrust anyone you meet…"

"Not having to withhold your last name," Madara added.

"Exactly! Killing your own friend just because both of your clan opposes each other is really messes up. I mean, it's not like you ask to be born, right? We've never been given any choice if we'd like to be born rich or poor, if we'd like to be born in a ninja clan or as a regular civilian, if we'd like to be a boy or a girl." The girl shifted, turning to face him. "Take you for an example. You're just a boy, and you're born in this clan who just happen to _loath_ this other clan. So you become a shinobi, because of your father's demand I suppose, but do you even know what you're fighting for?"

"I fight for my brother," Madara answered instinctively. "And for my family," he added as an afterthought.

The girl help up her hand. "No, let me rephrase that. From what I understand, the Senju and the Uchiha both originated from the same ancestor–"

"No we don't!" Madara sputtered.

"Yes you are. Then shit happened, and the ancestor's sons fought. It was over something petty, but since humans are emotional and easily manipulated moron–"

"You're a human too, moron," Madara interjected.

"For the sake of the argument, let's pretend I'm a God. Now shut your trap, mortal."

Madara raised his hands in mock surrender.

"As I said earlier, humans are emotional and easily manipulated _morons_." Cued, pointy glare at him. He flipped her off. "Blinded by hatred and the need for revenge, what started as something petty turned into a full-blown war between both descendants. You kill some of them, then they retaliate and kill some of you, and then the cycle goes on and on until both clans are extinct. You said it yourself. This whole thing is _pointless_ , and I know for a fact that you don't even know why both sides even fighting in the first place – why you're fighting your own _family_ in the first place." The girl paused and let her words sunk in.

"So young man, let me ask you once again." The girl leaned forward. "What are you fighting for?"

His silence answered it all.

"Nothing," the girl answered in his stead. "You fight for nothing. You train for nothing. You sweat and bleed for nothing. You suffer and weep for nothing. You kill and taint your hands with blood for _nothing_."

Madara gritted his teeth. The girl had no right to say that. They barely knew each other. Even if they did, she still would not have any right to say anything like that. Yes, Madara was grateful that she saved his clansmen, but that did not mean that she could behave and talk trash to him – she was the one who harmed them in the first place. And it was not like he had much choice. He was born to be a shinobi, one of the best that his clan could offer. Sparing his enemies would not automatically make them spare his own clansmen. It did not work like that. So what if his battles were pointless? So what if he was very, very, _very_ , distantly related to those Senju bastards? It did not mean a thing now, it _never_ meant a thing. Madara simply wanted his clan to be safe, and he would do anything to make sure of it. If the girl only came to criticize him, then she could go f–

"And that's why your dream of peace is not stupid."

 _What?_ Madara was not sure if he heard it right.

The girl gave him a lopsided grin, her dimples showing. "You acknowledge that there's something wrong with this world – with this system – and despite your hatred towards your enemy, you know that fighting will solve nothing, you're willing to give an alliance a chance. You entertain this ridiculously hopeless idea, and that takes _guts_."

 _What?_

The girl's smile dimmed, her gaze turning distant again. "I myself don't think that a true and everlasting peace is possible. Man seeks peace, yet at the same time yearning for war. Even if we somehow manage to achieve peace, the selfish desire of wanting to maintain peace will cause wars, and then hatred will be born to protect love – and we have not even included human greed in the equation here." She gazed sadly at him. "Nothing is ever enough. Someone will always wish for something more, and then someone else is going to get hurt in the process. Then there'll be pain, war, and suffering all over again."

"Honestly I want peace, I really do. And despite what everyone might've said, I know that deep down they want it too. They just don't want to be disappointed. They have lived with so much violence in their life that peace becomes something that seems so far-fetched. But that's why you – a dreamer – are here." The girl pressed the tip of her finger against his chest, the action left him with a strange feeling. "To change our mind, to convince us pessimist that peace isn't just a fool's dream, to show us killers that there's another way to live – that we too, deserve happiness. To show _me_ , that you are not just another emotional and easily manipulated moron that can't even think for himself."

Madara stared blankly at the girl, his mouth slightly agape at the sudden turn their conversation had taken.

"I-I…"

The girl only smiled kindly, paying no heed to his embarrassing inability to form a coherent answer. "And whatever happens, please don't give up on us, okay?"

Madara was confused. He felt the conversation went over his head. Although what the girl had said was simple and straightforward, he felt as if her words were conveying something different – something deeper, something that he was missing on, something that meant so much _more_ than just not giving up on his ridiculous dream. _But what?_

Madara met the girl's eyes and whispered, "Okay…"

That was what she wanted to hear, right?

Instead of the smile that he was expecting, the girl's expression hardened. A brief tremor ran through her hand before she forced it to disappear. The girl retracted her hand, and suddenly Madara felt emptiness settled within the small spot where they were briefly connected, as if she had ripped a part of him. A dull ache settled on his sternum, and Madara felt his heartbeat quicken.

 _Ba-dumb, ba-dumb, ba-dumb._

The girl moved to stand up.

Madara felt his throat clog up, suddenly it was very difficult to breathe.

 _Ba-dumb, ba-dumb, ba-dumb._

When their eyes met again, Madara almost flinched.

The girl forced a smile, the muscles in her neck visibly tensing up. "It's really nice to meet you and all… but I," she clenched her hands so hard that her knuckles turn white, "I got to go," she finished lamely.

And then she was gone.

Madara drew desperate short breaths, filling his lungs with the much needed air. He closed his eyes and pressed his hand against his chest, feeling his heart thundering against his rib cage.

 _What was that?_

* * *

"Where the hell were you?!" an Akimichi, whose name the clone did not even bother to remember, hissed.

"I was taking a shit, if you must know," it answered matter-of-factly.

The clone actually had just finished its patrol round in the west border, as per Shikadai's order. However, judging from the way that the Akimichi had behaved towards it in the short time that they had become acquaintance, explaining what it had done for the past few hours still would not stop Akimichi from belittling it anyway, so why bother?

Akimichi sneered in disgust. "Why are you even here, you trash? If you can't even behave to be anything remotely better than useless, you can at least save everyone's the trouble by staying at home and play with your dresses instead."

The clone cleaned its ear with its small finger, pretending as if it did not hear anything. "You say something?"

Akimichi growled. His eyes narrowed into a slit. "Why, you little–"

"Be quiet, both of two," Shikadai's vassal chided as the teen soundlessly approached them.

The boy was tall, garbed in dark-colored attire which complemented his sharp features. One of his hand rested on the hilt of the katana in his waist whilst the other hovered over the weapon pouch strapped on his pants. His shoulders were relaxed, but his senses were alert, always ready to face and neutralize any oncoming threat. His eyes looked troubled though, which made the clone worry.

"Is there something wrong?"

The boy smiled thinly. "Shikadai-sama requests your presence, Nara-san."

The clone nodded its head, ignoring Akimichi's exclamation about how their team leader was going to chew it out for its unpleasant attitude and misconduct.

It flickered away and appeared in front of their guard post. It walked to the door and rapped its knuckle against the door with a specific pattern. The door opened few seconds later.

"Shikadai-sama," it greeted.

The taller boy inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Shikari-san, do come in."

The clone ushered inside whilst the preteen locked the door behind him and gestured for the clone to follow him. The clan heir appeared to be somewhat distressed, but the negative emotion fled his eyes just as quickly as it appeared, hidden beneath layers upon layers of indifferent masks the boy adorned.

The clone followed the boy as he they walked down the stairs into the basement, where the cells were located, and its demeanor turned serious. "Who is it?"

"You'll see," the boy answered vaguely.

Shikadai led the girl into the first cell near the stair; the lantern in his hand barely illuminated the feature of the prisoner. He gestured for the girl to come closer, "I want you to identify her."

The clone do as it was asked. It crouched down and peered into the darkness, trying to discern the prisoner's feature.

"Delinquent…?"

 _Oh hell no… is that...?_

There was only one person who ever called Boss that – a person who was not even supposed to exist anymore, and that person was…

"Hotaru?" it blurted.

It narrowed its eyes, adjusting them to the darkness. The face was slimmer and gaunt, pale from the lack of sunshine. But those sharp eyes and high cheekbones were unmistakably hers, so did the haughty smile that adorned her lips. It was bitch-sensei, alright.

The clone gulped.

Boss would be _pissed_.

* * *

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	8. Murderers' Midnight Escapades

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"But I didn't understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair."**_

 _ **Haruki Murakami**_

* * *

"How are you, girl?"

Hotaru tilted her head, looking perfectly at ease with the chain that adorned her wrists and ankles. She seemed quite spirited for someone who was supposed to be dead for more than two years, ghastly appearance and all.

To answer Hotaru's question, Shikamaru definitely was not fine. He had woken up far too early in the morning. He had gone to the barrack, had been ogled like a circus exhibition, and had gotten into a fight with overeager punks who did not know how to yield. Even when he had planned to have a break, he had ended up investigating why his clone had gone AWOL to the Uchiha domain. Per his non-existent luck, Shikamaru, naturally, had gone sidetracked and instead had gone to save mini-warmonger who had gotten himself in a sticky situation.

It did not get any better after that.

Shikamaru had met an Uchiha minion. The boy seemed somewhat familiar, but Shikamaru could not quite put his finger on it. It was not until that they sat side by side that Shikamaru truly observed him – from the shape of his dark eyes, his thin brows, his seemingly ever-present scowl, to the way he passionately spoke about his belief – and Shikamaru was (rightfully) horrified to find out that the boy was unmistakably Uchiha Madara.

He tried to deny his own deduction, he even tried to get a rise out of him so that he could feel the brief spike of his chakra. And boy, Shikamaru did feel it. It was unmistakably the suffocating and foul chakra that only one Uchiha Madara possessed.

Shikamaru then had acted on impulse. Mimicking the skill that he learned from the genin who participated in the Chūnin Exam he proctored, he almost blocked one of the pressure points in the boy's heart. It was going to be a quick process, in theory the boy would only experience a brief chest pain before he descended into cardiac arrest.

However, before Shikamaru could finish the deed, the logical side of him quickly took over and reminded him that he could not dispose the boy without facing the adverse consequences. Madara _was_ one of Konoha's founding fathers. The village might never be formed if the boy did not reach adulthood, and consequently so did the other four Great Shinobi Villages. Sure, Black Zetsu's plan to revive Kaguya would be postponed; however, not only that the Warring States Period might never end – which was simply unacceptable – any knowledge and variables that he could control might no longer be valid.

Shikamaru quickly undid what would have become his greatest headache and retracted his hand. The boy would feel some unpleasant side effects, but he would survive. That was more than what could be said about the thousands of people that would suffer should he convert into the dark side. Shikamaru quickly made a tactical retreat after bidding the boy an awkward goodbye, inwardly hoping that he would not realize what had happened, however unlikely it was.

Now, sitting here in front of his thought-to-be-dead-bane-of-existence that was never actually deceased in the first place, being incredibly sleep deprived whilst nursing one hell of a migraine after receiving sudden influx of memories from his clone, Shikamaru knew that he was making a right decision by allowing the boy to live. Even the smallest stone made a ripple in the water, even the simplest action could cause unforeseen consequences. He would not gamble and ruin the future for the sake of petty revenge. He could wait, could bid his time until the moment was right. He would be damned if he let his second chance go to waste.

Returning his attention to the woman before him, Shikamaru forced a smile, his words sugary sweet. "I am well, of course, especially now that my favorite teacher is here!" He jutted his bottom lip, attempting to look cute though his eyes were dead. "I miss you, sensei."

Shikadai coughed in the background, unsubtly reminding him why he was speaking with the woman in the first place.

Hotaru, being the troublesome woman that she was, had refused to talk to anyone but him. Perhaps she thought he would not be able to coax anything out of her, or perhaps she simply wanted him to become her verbal punching bag, who knew. Shikadai himself seemed inclined to keep the woman's reappearance quiet, at least until they had acquired more information, since he had not called for any backup or report back to his superior.

Hotaru giggled, her eyes bright with contempt. "So am I, dear, so am I – so much that I feel like emptying my stomach if I spend one more second looking at your face."

"Trust me. The sentiment is mutual," Shikamaru assured with a grin. "Though I do have to wonder, where have you been all of this time? Did you run away?" Hotaru looked rather amused. It was a no then. "Fake your death?" A flicker of surprise crossed her face. It appeared she was not aware of her deceased status. "Were you captured?"

Her eyes shifted then, there was a brief crack on her demeanor. Her posture subconsciously turned defensive before she could conceal her reaction. Shikamaru waited for her denial.

"Yes I was," Hotaru stated instead with a thin smile.

Shikamaru blinked, a bit surprised, but not entirely perplexed by her honesty. It was a sign of good behavior after all, a sign that she was willing to cooperate.

"By whom?"

Hotaru avoided his eyes, opting to examine her uneven nails instead – eyeing them with distaste. "Oh you know, those red-eyed bastards."

Shikamaru felt his eyebrows rose. Was that why his clone had gone to the Uchiha territory, because it had seen Hotaru escape?

"Uchiha?" Shikadai interjected, moving to stand beside Shikamaru. "We don't have any business with them. Why would they suddenly enter our border and risk the status quo just to capture you?"

"Do you really?" Hotaru gave them a half-smile. "I clearly remember them using the so called Yamanaka's secret technique to make an army of sleeper agent."

Shikamaru leaned closer, intrigued.

"How do we know that _you_ aren't a sleeper agent?" Shikadai pointed out. "You haven't exactly explained how you arrive at our border, have you? Even if we somehow believe you, how can you recognize the technique when you yourself are a civilian?"

"Because it is rightfully mine," Hotaru replied matter-of-factly, as if it explained everything. "It's not my fault that everyone is too dimwitted to remember it."

"You're delusional," Shikadai rebutted.

"And you, my dear, are an unwanted child."

"You–"

"Shikadai-sama," Shikamaru interrupted calmly, "a moment, please?"

Shikadai pursed his lips in disagreement, but led him into the other side of the dungeon nevertheless. The boy then motioned him to talk.

Shikamaru lowered his voice. "I don't mean to be disrespectful, _sir_ , but you shouldn't antagonize her. I know that she can be quite troublesome, but we can't afford her acting mute again."

"I know, I apologize for that." Shikadai massaged the bridge of his nose. "However, this new… issue... she has roused is very unsettling. I know that this could be just a rather elaborate attempt to cause dissection in our ranks, but I can't exactly ignore the possibility that there might be a traitor in our people. It's certainly not impossible."

Shikadai briefly glanced at his prisoner, she stared back at him with that disconcerting smile of hers.

The woman seemed to be willing to confide in the girl, obviously because Shikari was young and lacked the necessary training and experience as an interrogator. It was a risky gamble to let the girl question the prisoner in the first place (or a complete waste of time), since brawling and delving into the intricate maze that was human mind was a completely different matter. Not that he was an ideal choice either, since he had never _actually interrogated_ someone before. But Shikadai supposed it would not hurt to try. They still had an hour or two before their shift was over. After that, he could just deliver the woman straight to sir – err… father – and then she would no longer be his problem.

"You know what, you go talk to her," Shikadai blurted out. "She will feel safer confiding in you anyway."

Shikari could interrogate the woman whilst he took a short nap upstairs. It would not make that much difference anyway, since the two of them were equally incompetent at interrogation. Besides, what was the use of underlings if he had to do all the works himself?

Shikadai slid his hand into his weapon pouch and fetched a kunai. He took the girl's hand and wrapped her fingers around the handle, the soft skin was a stark contrast against his calloused one. "You know what to do should she misbehave, don't you?"

If the worst came to the worst – perhaps the girl got herself killed; perhaps the prisoner someway, somehow, managed to free herself – Shikadai would be waiting for her upstairs. The only way for her to escape was to get through him first.

The girl nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good girl," he awkwardly patted her head like one would to an obedient child. That was how one supposed to give a child an encouragement, right? "I'll return in an hour."

Shikamaru waited until the boy was no longer within the hearing range before he returned his attention to his prisoner. The woman was looking at him with a sly smirk plastered on her face.

"What?" He asked flatly.

"Nothing." Hotaru smiled mischievously.

"Right," Shikamaru muttered dryly.

He settled comfortably on his chair and with the flick of his hand, impaled the knife into the wooden table – close enough to Hotaru's chained hands, but still beyond her fingers' reach – giving her a promise of freedom should she provided him with something good.

"Can we talk now?" Shikamaru asked bluntly. "Before we start, I will remind you that it really is within _your_ best interest to tell me everything, as my supervisor most likely will let you go." It was unlikely, but he would wager on it anyway. "But if not, some Yamanaka will definitely take my place and screw with your mind until your brain is nothing more than a jelly – and I can assure you, then you _will_ truly be really dead."

"Of course, of course." Hotaru smirked, entirely unperturbed by his words. "Where do you want me to begin?"

Shikamaru rested his chin on his palm. "Why don't you start with how you escape your jailer?"

* * *

Cold winds blew on his face, brushing the longer strands of his hair against his cheek. Dark clouds were starting to gather in the sky, obscuring the moon. Flashes of lightning appeared in the distance, their bright colors illuminated the atmosphere. It was going to rain soon,

But still, his little brother had not come home.

He shifted his weight to his right foot, crunching the dried leaves beneath it. He tightened the white fur on his shoulders and rubbed his palms together, a puff of cold air escaped his lips.

He had been standing in front of the gate for what felt like hours, patiently waiting for his brother to return. Others would have given up already. It would not have been illogical after all, it had been too long since his team supposed ETA. But not him. He knew that his brother was still out there, somewhere, on his way home. He could still feel him. His chakra signature was dim, probably low on chakra, but he was alive and well. Tobirama was sure of it.

Tobirama crouched on the ground and pressed his finger against the soil. His brother's chakra was still somewhere on the eastern side of their stronghold, unmoving from its spot. There were no other chakra signatures near him, not even that of their clansmen. He was completely alone.

Tobirama estimated that his brother was somewhere near the creek which Hashirama usually visited whenever he felt like moping and brooding on a particularly bad day. It was possible that Itama needed some alone time, especially since everyone on his team likely had fallen on battle. Everyone had their own coping mechanism after all, thus Tobirama had to respect the boy's privacy if he chose to grief in solitude. However, more than a solid hour had already passed and Itama still showed no sign of coming home. He probably had not eaten anything, Tobirama mused. He could be shivering, alone and lost on his own thoughts. His grief would definitely affect his performance and he would be unaware if hostile parties approached him.

Tobirama was not exactly sure when he had decided that he had done enough waiting and decided to fetch the boy himself. By the time he registered what he was doing, he had already pumped his feet with chakra and leaped into the trees. A thin layer of chakra had already coated his skin and clothes, instantly repelling droplets of water that managed to sneak through the tree canopies.

Once he arrived at the creek, instead of the sight of his brother lying on the pool of his own blown, or the sight of the boy slowly drowning and suffocating to death and other multitudes of terrible scenarios that his mind had conjured, what greeted him instead was the sight of his brother fervently scrubbing his skin and shirt like his life depended on it. Once a while he would sniff his arms, grimacing at the smell, and started scrubbing again.

Now, Tobirama always prided himself as being the most mature and level-headed out of his brothers. Growing up as a shinobi, he had faced, endured, and triumphed various hardships and losses. As far as he knew, nothing could really faze him anymore. However, to know that he waited and worried sick for hours simply because the boy had decided to have an impromptu bath in the middle of the night…

Tobirama's hand moved in its own accord as it lashed out on the tree on his right, cleaving the trunk into a half, startling his brother who instinctively scurried for his weapons and armor as it plummeted straight into the middle of the creek.

Itama took a double take at him – his jaw hung agape when he realized that the 'hostile party' was actually his own brother – and started hollering. "Are you kidding me?! I almost got a heart attack!"

Tobirama crossed his arms and snarled back. "Isn't that supposed to be my line? What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be home hours ago!"

Itama at least had the decency to look sheepish. "I'm sorry. You must have been worried."

"No, I don't," Tobirama fumed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, brother," Itama dismissed his claim. "Anyway, long story short, I got the map, but my team was ambushed on our way out. They all died." Itama clenched his fists, his bloodshot eyes were burning with fury. "I would have died too if not for that boy…"

"Who is he? Did you see his clan's insignia? What's his level of threat?" Tobirama asked. He knew better than to ask about the boy's feeling and brought forth unwanted memories. What Itama needed was a distraction, not condolence or pity. A shinobi did not need to be coddled.

"He didn't tell me his name. I did't see any clan insignia on him either, but I'm pretty sure that he wore a standard clan issue armor. He could have stolen it though, so who knows," Itama trailed off, feeling unsure himself. "I'm not exactly sure just how strong he really is, but he's certainly crafty. He easily took down five adult Uchiha with only using needles and flash bombs."

"That's worrying. He might become a threat to us should we ever stand on opposite sides," Tobirama noted. But how come they never heard of him? "Did he mention anything about his allegiance, about why he–" Tobirama paused when a peculiar odor entered his nostrils. His nose scrunched up in disgust. "Itama, do you smell that?"

Itama grimaced. "That's actually what I want to talk about with you."

Tobirama beckoned his brother. "Go on then."

"Do you remember what you said about not startling other shinobi?" Tobirama narrowed his eyes, feeling suspicious, but nodded his head nonetheless. Itama continued his ramble. "Well, once he stopped his assault, I kind of – you know, moved – 'cause let me tell you, those needles _hurt_ like hell. He heard me, but I think he mistook me for one of the Uchiha, so he kind of threw a skunk–"

"Wait a second, is that why you're here?" Tobirama asked incredulously. "Because a skunk sprayed you?"

Itama averted his head away, his cheeks turned pink in embarrassment. "Yeah…"

Tobirama sighed heavily. "You're unbelievable."

Was a penchant of being ridiculous was something that ran in the family? He started to wonder if he was, in fact, an adopted child. It seemed he was the only one who was blessed with some semblance of sanity.

"Look, I know that it sounds stupid, but that kind of things do happen, okay?!" Itama protested. "And I can't exactly just waltz home, can I?! The whole barrack would have stunk like crazy the very second I step in it," Itama grumbled.

Tobirama resisted the urge to rub his forehead in exasperation.

"What happened next?" Tobirama inquired softly, already dreading whatever it was that would come out of his brother's mouth.

"Like I said, I was sprayed by a skunk. The boy said that I could remove the stench with tomato, which you know I am allergic to. But he said that his employer, the one who made him scout the Uchiha's territory, is willing to make an instant remedy for a price."

"Which is?"

Itama rubbed the back of his neck. "A map."

"A map," Tobirama murmured, tasting the curious method of payment on his tongue.

The white-haired boy flickered his gaze to his brother. The boy fidgeted under his blank stare. His fingers fiddled restlessly with the hem of his trousers. Itama only did that whenever he was feeling–

"Wait…" Tobirama backtracked. "You're not seriously considering to just hand over _that_ map to him, do you?"

Itama only winced, not bothering to deny his accusation.

"Are you out of your mind?! Even if we don't need it to free our clansmen from that godforsaken prison, six good men still lost their lives today just so that we can acquire it. Trust me, that drug of his does not worth their sacrifices."

"I know that! But think about it for a second," Itama pleaded. "Do you remember what you lectured me the other day, about using others for your own gain?"

"What about it?" Tobirama asked tersely.

"Well, I've given a lot of thoughts about it and I was thinking that instead of attacking the prison ourselves, why don't we just let others do it for us? 'Cause let me tell you, there're _tons_ of chakra in there – like, a _lot_ – so much that even a non-sensor like me can feel it. It isn't just the Senju who is being locked in there, there're other people too. Their families must have been worried sick looking for them. They'll be eager to free their people if given the chance. The Uchiha won't stand a chance if they're attacked from all sides."

"Shit…" Tobirama muttered under his breath. "That's actually a really great idea," he admitted. "No one will believe us if we tell them that we are willing to share the layout of our archenemy's stronghold with them. They will immediately assume that we are only leading them to their deaths, which is not entirely false. However, if it is sold to them by a third party, they will not dismiss it right away. Whatever decision they make will be entirely up to them. Supposing anything went wrong, the blame could and would not be placed on us. Either way, whether they succeed in their endeavors or not, our clan will be the one who is affected the least."

"Err… that's not exactly what I have in mind," Itama chimed. "I'm actually thinking about giving the map away so that his employer can circulate it around."

"That isn't how mercenaries work, Itama."

"We don't even know if they are mercenaries," Itama countered. "Maybe his employer collects maps for fun, just like how anija likes to collect plants. Besides… even if they _are_ mercenaries, I'm not really sure that they'll be willing to sell the map." Itama scratched the back of his neck.

"And that's because…" Tobirama trailed off.

"Well…" Itama began. "You know how heavily guarded that place is, right? My team barely found any opening to infiltrate it and even then we only had a very limited time to find its layout – if it's even documented in the first place. Long story short, we were running out of time. We were about to go home empty-handed when we passed by this woman's cell. She begged me to free her – she looked really sad and I couldn't help myself – so I did. At first Akio-san was unwilling to bring her with us, but the woman said that she could give us the map of the part of the prison that she had visited. She drew us the map and we escaped just in time. But then we got separated halfway and the rest is history."

"So the map is useless," Tobirama deadpanned.

"It's legit!" Itama proclaimed. "She really knows what she's doing."

"Uh-uh."

"I mean it! Just see it for yourself." Itama rummaged through his weapon pouch and fished a scroll. "Here." Itama pulled his arm back and threw the rolled parchment across the creek.

Tobirama deftly caught the small nondescript scroll, opting to dangle it on the tip of his finger with a chakra string once he registered the unpleasant scent that accompanied it. He would take a look at it first thing in the morning. Hopefully its smell would have dissipated a bit by then.

"Just so that you know, I don't expect much out of it. Even it's exterior already smells like a disappointment."

"You're so mean." Itama sulked.

"I don't care," Tobirama declared. "Quickly dry yourself and return home. I'll try to find some old clothes and sleeping bag for you to use. You're not allowed to set a foot inside the compound before you get that nasty smell off of you."

"Oh, come on!"

* * *

"…six men are dead, four are in a critical condition, twelve are injured, and three are permanently incapacitated. Six men still have not returned, including your son. Madara-sama is scheduled to patrol in the east border tonight. It is very likely that he is currently aiding our trackers to pursue the Senju–"

"What about the prison?" Tajima interjected, his tone subdued from the aftermath of the battle. "Are there any missing captive?"

"None of the prisoners are missing, despite the lack of guards. Your strategy is a success, sir. It appears the infiltrators have entered an entirely different place – your decoy prison."

"We have our ally to thank for that," Tajima stated, giving credit where it was due. "Are any of the prison guards injured?"

"No, sir. The security–"

Knocking sounds resounded from the door.

"–on the decoy prison has been doubled as you ordered. The infiltrators did not stand a chance against them."

"That is good to hear," the clan head muttered under his breath. "You may return now, Yashiro. Rest well, we will a long day ahead of us. Bring me an update from the infirmary tomorrow," Tajima ordered. "Please send that person in on your way out."

"Yes, sir." Yashiro bowed respectfully and exited the room.

Madara poked his head in not a second later. His eyes immediately zoomed into the heavy bandage that covered one side of his father's face. Madara forced himself not to stare.

"You are _late_ ," Tajima scolded. "We've been attacked, in case you do not know. This time they have an incessant tree-making freak with them."

Madara strode inside. "I've heard about it, not about the freak part though." He made a face. "I'm sure you handle it just fine." He held his palms up when his father narrowed his visible eye in warning. Right... a sore topic then. "For the record, I was taking a detour to check on our mutual friends _after_ dragging five unconscious men to the infirmary. I've also taken care of your minions–"

"Stop talking in riddles, boy. You're terrible in it," Tajima grouched. "They," he gestured to his hidden personal guards, "know about my side project. Speak plainly and spare both of us the embarrassment."

"Why don't you just say so…?" Madara grumbled. "As I have said before, I've taken care of the guards, no one shall remember a thing about any unusual things they saw in there. But… one woman is missing – subject number 38, if I am not wrong – the one who was locked in the solitary confinement."

"The one who resists our influence, isn't it?"

Madara nodded. "Correct. The chakra residue from the cell suggests that it was the Senju who breaks her out."

 _Why her?_ Tajima inwardly wondered. The woman's chakra did not feel like a Senju, thus she could not possibly be one of them. It was possible that she was their spy, perhaps a member of one of their allies. However, that woman only showed her rebellious attitude recently, after the administration of the technique. His ally had explicitly stated that it was not perfect, thus her behavior could very well be caused by a technical failure. It still did not explain why the Senju freed her though…

"Assemble a task force," Tajima ordered his bodyguards, "we need to relocate the subjects–"

"That won't be necessary," Madara interrupted, already knew what the man was thinking. "The woman is not with them, so the others won't be compromised. Six out of the seven infiltrators are dead and the one who manage to escape is a mere boy, she was not with him. You don't need to hunt her down either, I've…" _however unintentional it was_ , he thought, "I've taken care of it."

"How?" his father asked.

Madara was not sure how he should explain it, since it involved touching what was considered to be a very sensitive issue for both of them. They never broach the subject, let alone openly discussing it.

He straightened himself and decided to just be done with it.

"Remember how big brother killed himself?"

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Shikamaru surmised. "You drew them the map – which accuracy is logically questionable – and they still agreed to bring you with them? Even if they were very desperate, the hassle from bringing a civilian with them clearly outweigh that map's worth. How come they didn't see you as a liability – or better yet, just kill you once have the map?"

He definitely would have done the latter.

"Because _I_ , am not a liability," Hotaru replied shortly, seemingly certain that it was the reason why she was still breathing. "They must have known, at the very least, the basic layout of that place to be able to infiltrate it. Perhaps my map fits in." she shrugged.

"But how?" Shikamaru pressed in. "You said you were captured. Didn't they lock you up?"

"No," Hotaru shook her head, "they let us roam free, at least in our prison level. Loath am to admit it, that bastard Tajima really has an ingenious method to turn all of those people into his dogs."

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Hotaru took a deep breath and started explaining. "The women he caught were at the bottom of the social hierarchy. They were slaves, prostitutes, war orphans, and street urchins. He gives them foods and shelter, showers them with kindness. He gives them hope and purpose, make them believe that they are a part of something bigger. In return, they give him their loyalty – their utter devotion. Loyal to him and him only. It doesn't even matter that they are isolated inside this giant prison. He is _God_ in their eyes. Their lives belong solely to him and nothing, _nothing_ , can convince them otherwise."

Brainwashing aside, Shikamaru thought, it was clever of the man to use women for his cause. They were not seen as threats, at least not in the current trend of warfare with all-male army. They could easily infiltrate many places and integrated themselves into new societies without being suspected by noisy busybodies. With the right training they could work not only as spies, but also directly engage in war – from posing as male soldiers, to seducing secrets out of politicians and generals, to operating as couriers and diplomats – and turn the tide of war.

He definitely had to keep an eye on this Tajima person.

"How did you break free then? Did they manage to affect you in the first place?" The knowledge would be invaluable should he ever encounter those spies in the future.

"They did." Hotaru pressed her lips together, looking genuinely uncomfortable and disturbed by the fact. "I don't know why, but I had no recollection of anything when I woke up. I didn't know my name, my age, where I came from – anything that might explain who I was. I was gullible, foolishly trusting the people who took me in. Then that bastard moved into the next step of his plan and start burying those needles into our brains, sealing our memories of being sleeper agents."

"Fortunately for me, somehow by unexpected sheer luck, my old memories returned as well when he canceled the technique. And I knew, I _knew_ at that very second that it was my family technique. The ones who are supposed to know it are only the Yamanaka and I, the price for my _assimilation_ ," Hotaru spat out the word, "into the clan. Imagine my surprise when I find it on someone else's possession."

Shikamaru recognized that particular technique. It was the Memory-Concealing Manipulative Sand Technique, also known as the Sand Brainwash Technique. It was the technique which Sasori would have used in the future to plant his spies and causing havoc in Elemental Nation. He did not know of its precise origin, but he was very certain that the Yamanaka never possessed it in his own timeline. Sasori would not be able to plant his spies in Konoha otherwise.

Exactly what kind of disaster had his existence caused?

"So you're the Land of the Wind's gal, huh?" He asked instead – trying to distract his mind from that line of thought – nodding to Hotaru's now sandy-brown hair. The strands used to be much darker two years ago, not matching their lighter roots. "How on earth did you end up in Fire Country of all places?"

"Well… the Uchiha slaughtered my clan for starter," Hotaru replied blasély, as if she was talking about the weather instead of a genocide. "I escaped in time and literally crawled my way to the Land of Rivers. I met your grandfather and uncles there. The old coot tended my wounds and brought me here. Then life went on, yada, yada, and now I am here."

"Is that how you met my mother?" Shikamaru asked curiously. "What exactly do you see in her that make you so infatuated?"

"Aren't you supposed to question me instead of gossiping?"

"I'm bored," Shikamaru admitted. "Aren't you?"

Hotaru considered his question. She nodded her head when she did not find any hidden motive behind it.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of times for interrogation later," he quickly assured when he saw her pinched expression. "There's nothing wrong with having a normal conversation, is there? After everything you've been through, talking with familiar faces surely helps."

"Fine." Hotaru sighed in resignation, truthfully not really opposing the idea. "For your information, I don't need a therapy, especially not from the likes of _you_."

"Whatever you say, sensei."

Hotaru ignored the girl's response, opting to formulate the right words to answer the girl's inquiry. She was not sure why she was willing to answer it in the first place. Perhaps for the sake of old times, perhaps out of desperation, or perhaps because the girl looked like the exact replica of her mother and Hotaru had never been able to say no to Etsuko.

Hotaru averted her eyes upward, peering into the darkness of the ceiling, lost in a memory.

"Your mother, Etsuko, is a very complex individual," she began. "To be honest, I don't remember what exactly is it that make me fall for her. Perhaps her smile, her spirit, her courage, who knows." She shrugged. "But being with her make me feel safe, happy, and complete. At least she used to."

"Used to?"

"Correct. Having no recollection of anything for almost two years does have its merits after all. It gives me a new perspective, a perspective which I used to evaluate my life and sort my thoughts together once I regained my memories back. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but I've realized… I realize that I was never _in_ love with your mother."

Hotaru paused, contemplating whether she should continue or not. She did not know Nara very well and everything she said could very well be used against her. On the other hand, talking about it did help. She could sort through her feelings and remove this heavy weight off of her chest. She owed herself that, at the very least.

"My feelings for her started with that of a respect, respect that she accepted me – an outsider – as if I was her own family. It then grew into friendship, just the two of us against the world. We used to secretly give people nickname so that only we knew who we were talking about. We could have a whole conversation with just one look – there was no need for explanation, we always knew what the other was thinking. We shared every little detail about every little thing. I could say a total nonsense and Etsuko would respect it anyway, we never got bored with each other's blabber. She was my best friend, and I was hers."

"But then I grew older, not really wiser though," Hotaru chuckled bitterly, "and I became obsessed with the idea of avenging my family. I was hell-bent on joining the ninja force. I trained on my own, day and night, even though everyone told me off. Etsuko, of course, tried to help me in her own way. She begged her old man to help me and he did, he pulled some strings to get me in."

"My training… well, it went badly. Something happened and I was dishonorably discharged. So I returned home. Although I was disheartened, I knew that my best friend would always be there to cheer me up. I didn't know that at the time Etsuko was dealing with her own issue, since we weren't allowed to have contact with the outside world. She was already of age then, and her family keep on pressuring her to get married. Etsuko, of course, didn't take it too well when I started venting my problem on her. That day we had the biggest fight of our life. We said unforgivable things to each other, but we were too stubborn and prideful to apologize. From then on we just..." Hotaru shrugged, "drifted apart."

"I became even more desperate then. I wanted my best friend back but things just kept on getting on my way. The next thing I knew, I had degraded my genuine love for my friend into infatuation. What was supposed to be pure and full of trust turned into obsession and jealousy. What was supposed to be generous turned into something possessive. What was supposed to be real and sincere turned into pathetic delusion and lies and I–" Hotaru looked down on her trembling hands, "I _hate_ myself."

Shikamaru wordlessly took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabbed it against the woman's cheeks. He averted his eyes away from her, giving her the privacy which he would certainly ask should their situation was reversed.

"Just let it out. It will make you feel better," he encouraged. "For what it's worth, I'm really sorry about what has happened." For a moment he was reminded of Chōji, his oldest friend who readily sacrificed his life for him. The pain he felt from his passing was indescribable. "Losing your best friend sucks. There's this hole in your chest, this bottomless emptiness that's never quite the same without them to fill it in."

Hotaru did not know whether she should laugh or choke. She had half-expected the girl to shower her with sympathy and inspirational quotes after her sob story in hopes of gaining her trust and all, but the girl's effort in it was too transparent – it was nothing short of pathetic. Hotaru shrugged the cheap piece of cotton along with its owner away from her face.

"You know," she mused derisively, "I think I finally understand why I despise you so much. Don't get me wrong, I don't understand what kind of shits that you have been through in your short existence. I certainly do not and will never pretend to care about your well-being, but you are a fucked up child, Nara."

"From the way you speak, to the way you smile, to the way you cry, to the way you lie, to the way you show sympathy and kindness – to the way you do _anything_ in your life – every single thing is always done with a specific intention in mind. Every single thing you do is fake – a mere lie. Forgive my curiosity, but do tell me," she leaned forward, her torso hunched over her shackled fists, "how can you stand yourself?"

"Honestly?" Shikamaru met the woman's sharp gaze head on. "I _can't_ , I really can't. Words cannot describe just how much I loath myself. But you know what? At least I don't go around and fucking hang myself–"

Hotaru slammed her fists on the table. "How dare you?! Do you honestly think that I would willingly do that to myself? Somebody was trying to kill me, you ignorant fool! I almost lost my _life_ – Kami, I lost my career and my future because of it – so mission accomplished! Someone like you will never understand it," Hotaru sneered, "you are sheltered and pampered your whole life–"

"Do I need to remind you that you and my mother tortured me on daily basis?" Shikamaru pointed out with a smile. "That you terrify your class into submission and conduct unethical discipline method? My, my… aren't you a hypocrite–"

Shikamaru rolled out of the way just as Hotaru kicked the table down, Shikadai's kunai glinted dangerously on her shaking hands. "Go on, say that again… I dare you."

He propped his elbows against the floor, his mouth snapped shut. His eyes were focused on a black marking that peeked from the corner of the woman's loose collar, few inches beneath her left collarbone.

It started to glow amber.

"Don't ignore me!" Hotaru snarled.

Shikamaru remained quiet, his eyes were fixed on the black marking that had glowed brighter – eerily reminded him of explosive tags milliseconds before they went off. How curious, its glow seemed to be perfectly in synch with Hotaru's mounting ire.

His eyes flickered back and forth between the glowing mark and the woman's face, taking note of its intensity in accordance with the woman's breathing pattern and her most likely rapid heartbeat…

Shikamaru stared.

…oh shit.

Shikamaru immediately backed away. "Hotaru, I need you to calm down."

The woman grinned, baring her teeth at him like a predator would to its prey. "Why…? Are you scared of me, by any chance…? Where's your bark now, _Shi_ - _ka_ - _ri_? You were so sure of yourself earlier."

The mark, no – the seal, Shikamaru realized – was glowing even brighter.

"Please, calm down," he urged. "You're endangering yourself!"

"Endangering myself?" Hotaru mocked. "Oh honey, the only one who is in danger here is you."

Hotaru swung the blade with a roar.

The seal glowed red.

Shikamaru took cover.

…

For a moment everything was bright, then it was dark.

* * *

"Remember how big brother killed himself?"

Tajima flinched.

"I… I really don't want anyone else to do that to themselves," Madara quickly elaborated. "I know that it's not my place to decide and I know that it's probably selfish of me, but I've tried to create a seal that's supposed to prevent the branded individuals from taking their own lives. I lacked the necessary knowledge and skill to make what I wanted, I still now, so at the time I settled with something mediocre. It was quite promising, but I barely had any time for my side projects when I was appointed as the new clan heir, so I never tested it out."

"Few days ago, when I was visiting the camp, I saw that number 38 was showing erratic behavior. I thought to myself, _why not just test it on her_ , so I did. If the seal works correctly, it will send an electric shock to her heart if it stops beating – it's won't, actually. However, by the time I realized why, it's already too late for her."

Madara held his father's gaze. "The seal is faulty, I've made an error in its array. I think instead of sending electric pulse to her heart if it stops beating, it will send jolts of electricity whenever her heart rate is fast. Not only that, my chakra – which powers the seal – is also posing a problem. I didn't really take it into account then, but our chakra as an Uchiha – mine especially – is very potent and _that_ , combined with a faulty seal is a recipe for disaster."

"Are you absolutely sure that the seal works will work in such manner?" Tajima asked.

If it indeed worked with that principle, the woman would have died by now – either from electrocution or ventricular fibrillation-induced cardiac arrest. Running to the border alone would have elevated her heartbeat, and in turn cause the seal to repeatedly send electrical shock to her heart. Human body – especially a civilian – would not survive from such torture.

"It's either that..." Madara muttered, "or it explodes…" He made a vague motion with his hand, his father understood him anyway.

"Violently," Tajima finished.

Madara looked away, ashamed. "Yes."

A tentative hand settled on his shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "That's my boy."

Madara slowly smiled.

* * *

 **A/N:** Anija (兄者/あにじゃ) = older brother.

 **Thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

 **I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.**

 **Check out my other story,** **"** **The Black Parade** **"** **.**


	9. Consequences

Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Masashi Kishimoto. However, the OCs do belong to me.

* * *

 _ **"It was like when you make a move in chess and just as you take your finger off the piece, you see the mistake you've made, and there's this panic because you don't know yet the scale of disaster you've left yourself open to."**_

 _ **Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go**_

* * *

" _Strange, isn't it. . . . " Etsuko mused, drawing the thing's attention._

 _Her gaze fell on their settlement' gate, where a woman was hugging and fussing over her son, a privilege which many mothers might not have. Despite her simple and practical garb, the gold-plated kanzashi on her hair clearly signified her higher status in the clan._

" _A soldier and a clan heir, yet treated like an infant that's about to keel over and die. I can't exactly fault his mother, she has had four miscarriages before she had him after all._

" _Well. . . ." Etsuko smirked, "I suppose miscarriage is a rather polite terms. I heard she terminated them all because they were males. She has always wished for daughters – probably couldn't bear the thought of losing her sons in action. It won't be hard for a medic of Noriko-sama's stature, she certainly knows her way around herbs. Too bad her last prediction is wrong." Etsuko closed her eyes and sighed wistfully. "What I wouldn't do to be her. . . ."_

 _It looked up curiously, her baby girl's wide eyes wordlessly conveyed its question._

" _What I wouldn't do to sent you into the battlefield, Shikari."_

* * *

Everyone had that moment, that brief moment of tranquility where they could simply relish in the sheer liberation that came from a well-deserved, however momentary, peace, after they had yet survived from another round of heartbreaking, suffocating, and headache-inducing checkmate from the insufferable thing called life. It was a moment to relax, to unwind, and to allow yourself to breathe and heal as your mind processed the fact that you were still alive, that pain and tragedy had not managed to break your spirit just yet.

But here was the thing about peace: it lulled you into a false sense of security. It made you believe that, for a moment, everything would be alright. It made you believe that it was okay to stop for a second and lowered your guards down because the danger had already passed _so_ _what could go wrong anyway?_

Well, here's the answer: everything.

Scattered on the floor was the residue of an altercation gone wrong: overturned table and chairs, splatters of blood, and a kunai left forgotten. Sprawled near the wall was a woman. Her pale lips hung open as her blank eyes stared unblinkingly into a faraway corner, the dark orbs were slowly sinking into her skull. Blood poured from the gaping hole that used to be her left ribs and upper sternum, staining her gray sash and brown-trimmed robes.

Light peeked through the open door of the guard post's upper level, where Nara Shikadai stood at the top of the stairs with a lantern on his hand. His eyes carefully swept over the carnage, where there lied a crumpled heap of what was left of the woman that Shikari was supposed to interrogate. He was grateful for the dim light, for it obscured the way his fair skin simultaneously turned paler and greener the more that he stared at her corpse.

Shikadai was done for. A witness to what might have been an important case had died whilst she was under his supervision. As if it was not already bad enough, instead of calling for his superior – either out of arrogance or simply to show his father that he was capable of making his own decision – he had sent an inexperienced girl to interrogate the woman just so that he could have something as frivolous as a power nap. Shikadai could practically see what would happen next. He was going to be dishonorably discharged and the traitors would never be found. The tiny ounce of respect that his father might have had for him now would pulverize and–

"Shikadai-kun."

His eyes snapped towards the girl. She was sitting crossed-legged at the foot of the stairs of the dark basement, her small, bloody, hands were neatly folded on her lap. Shikadai had half of a mind to reprimand her for addressing him with that demeaning suffix, as if she were talking to a child. However, the way that she sat there, the epitome of poise and calmness despite all the blood and innards that were splattered on her clothes and hair; the way that she looked at him – at his shaking hands and feet – with dark eyes that were so full of patience and understanding, the eyes of someone who had seen and been through all, truly made him feel like he was still that child that was clinging to his mother's arms and begging that he did notwant to go.

"Say. . . ." the girl mused, "If you were given a chance stop being a shinobi, no strings attached, would you take it?"

Shikadai was about to open his mouth to answer when he stopped to think. "What's that got to do with anything?"

The girl's lips bloomed into a whimsical smile. "It could be nothing, it could be everything. Does it really matter?" Shikadai gave the girl a blank stare, for which she only replied with a pretty – _fake_ , he thought – laugh that lighted up her features. "Humor me, please."

Shikadai felt a warning bell rang on his head and almost took a step back. There was something that was incredibly freaky about the girl, something that lurked and hid beneath her impeccable manners and pretty smiles. He could almost imagine that behind those soft, pink lips, stood rows of razor sharp teeth that were ready to rip his neck and tear his flesh should he provided her with a wrong answer. She was beautiful, but so unnaturally _wrong_.

Shikadai swallowed his saliva and gripped his lantern just a little tighter. He was being paranoid, he told himself, the woman's death was getting into him. He stared right into the girl's dark eyes and said, "Of course, I would," his voice was barely above a whisper, but the sheer bitterness in it surprised even him, "everyone in their right mind would.

"But doing so would be selfish," he quickly countered. "The largest contribution to our revenue comes from doing missions, and no shinobi mean no money. Our crops are mostly subsistence in nature. The excess are stocked for winters, and what little we can spare are sold to the locals, used as bribes, or exchanged for information; the same can be said about our medicinal herbs. The bottom line is, the conventional way to obtain money simply doesn't cut it. I know it's not ideal, but I am more than willing to be a shinobi if it means my family can have roofs over their heads and enjoy warm meals. Mental wise, our soldiers are more stable than countless others from the same line of work – the Yamanaka and the community as a whole provide adequate supports to deal with the trauma – so I've really got nothing to complain about."

"That's thoughtful of you," the girl said with a smile. As far as smile went, it was a small and quiet one – only a tiny quirk on her lips. "You'll be a good clan head one day."

Shikadai narrowed his eyes, not swayed by her kind words. "Is that what the question is about? To find out if I would be a good leader for the clan?"

"No," the girl drawled, "think of it as a– _ah_ , a test of your character."

"Ah. . . . I see it now," Shikadai muttered. "My answer is a reflection of myself. If I would readily abandon my comrades at any given opportunity, then who's to say that I would not simply deny my responsibility, cover up my mistakes, and pretend as if nothing has happened? Don't worry, I won't shift the blame on you. I'll be held accountable for my actions as the higher-ups see fit."

The girl looked like she was about to roll her eyes in exasperation. "Don't be so morose about it. It's not like they would give you a death sentence over this."

"It's not about the punishment, it's the fact that I've even done such a reckless mistake in the first place!" Shikadai snapped. "The expectations are different when you're an only son and a clan heir. I will probably get demoted as soon as my father get a wind of this."

"Probably," she conceded. "But exactly how incompetent do you to think I am that you do not even consider the possibility that I might manage to extract crucial information out of her?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Shikadai rebutted, suddenly feeling audacious. "You're the one who act like there isn't a bloody corpse ten feet away from you. You're the one who have beaten – no, _toyed_ – with full-fledged trainees even though your profile states that you have zero training or experience in shinobi arts. If you're so competent then how come we've only heard of you _now_?

"I admit, at first I didn't put too much thought into it as it is not my place to ask any question. But then a key witness that was brought into _your_ attention," Shikadai almost snarled, "an anomaly with no clear background or abilities that oh-so-conveniently appeared today at the barrack, end up _dead_ whilst she was under my supervision. I don't know what your purpose is or whether I could trust you, so excuse me for not knowing how competent you are because honestly, I don't even _know_ you!"

"I…" the girl started, "am a casualty of war."

The lantern flickered.

"I am nothing but a mere puppet, a pawn in a shogi game, brought to life against my wishes."

The girl lifted her palm, soft and unblemished, "I was given an illusion of freedom, a blank slate for me to paint with colors, when unexpectedly. . ." tendrils of shadows suddenly emerged and coiled around the thin appendage, "I was enlightened."

The girl – no. . . Shikari, Shikadai thought – suddenly laughed – loud and hard – as if she had only now registered the meaning behind some ugly, twisted jokes that only she could hear.

"In the back of my mind, I've always known that there must be a catch," she said, as if it could help him to understand what the hell she was talking about. It did not. "I couldn't possibly exist for no reason at all. But still. . ." she mused, "it would be nice to be left alone on my own device, to be allowed to disappear and give absolutely zero care."

"Then why _don't_ you?" Shikadai heard himself humoring her.

Her eyes flickered to meet his again – sharp and calculating, but with weariness that could only be found in seasoned veterans.

"Because the world will burn."

"What. . . ?" Shikadai asked. It was such a simple statement, a silly one even. However, the way the girl said it, with such conviction and finality, as if they would all suffer from inevitable and horrible future – future that was filled with deaths and absolute despair – made him pause. "Why do– why did you said _that_? Is it– is it because you _killed_ her?" The evidences didn't really add up – not to mention, her lack of motive – but it would definitely explain her strange behavior. The first kill was always the hardest, especially if it was not a clean one–

"Stop," Shikari ordered, her tone tired, "just stop."

Shikadai warily watched as the girl dusted the dirt from her clothes and walked towards the woman's corpse. His eyes followed her every step as the girl swiftly drew arrays of container seal on a blank parchment, a skill which should not have been possessed by a novice shinobi-to-be.

"I know that you're confused, that things do not seem to make even the slightest sense. But sometimes. . ." she sealed the corpse away and turned to face him, her face serious, "ignorance _is_ a bliss."

Shikadai wanted to protest. The girl was acting precisely like his father: hiding things from him under the pretense of 'protecting' him. He would be thirteen soon, _goddammit_ , he did not need to be babied! Shikari held up her palm before he could voice his thoughts. She turned to him and spoke right into his ears,

"Imagine a world that is. . . broken, where the time is twisted and the sky is distorted. Where space itself snaps and falls into an endless, never-ending red abyss. You could walk with eyes closed and never touch walls. You would live in a dream, where everything that you ever wished would come true. But in reality. . ." she whispered, "your very life would be sucked from you, leaving you as an empty, dead _husk_."

Shikadai stared at the girl in muted horror as his mind was assaulted with images of the horrid place. A pale, lone moon hung at the center of all the wrongness.

"That _is_ the future," she said, "should I let things to continue as they are now." She patted his cheek reassuringly with her bonny fingers, idly tucking few stray strands of hair into his ear like his mother used to do. She smiled, bitter, but real. "Words of advice, not knowing everything is all that makes it okay sometimes."

Shikadai did not know how to answer. It was as if his tongue had suddenly been swallowed by a void, leaving him numb and speechless. He did not even realize that his lantern had fallen from his grip, scattering shards of glass and spilling oils into the wooden floor. Fire quickly spread through the basement, consuming the enforced, but unmistakably flammable materials which constructed it.

"Well. . . ? Aren't you coming?" Shikari's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"Where to?" he muttered.

It was strange, but Shikadai really could not muster the will to put out the fire. He simply. . . stared. It was fitting, he thought. The scorching heat should cleanse the truth of what had transpired inside the room not too long ago. No one else had to know. No one else had to catch a glimpse of the abyss. Some things, he thought, were better left unknown. Sometimes, the truth was worse than the lie.

"Somewhere," she shrugged. "I need to tie a loose end."

"Who is it?" _Who is it that you're going to kill?_

The girl smirked.

"Our fathers."

Shikadai stopped breathing.

* * *

The friction between the hemp cords and the wooden casket grated on his ears as a gust of wind ran through the lush trees – Hashirama's trees – that surrounded the otherwise barren wasteland.

With eyes void of emotion, Tobirama stared at the Senju crest that was etched on the coffin as it became smaller and smaller, and soon, diminutive from visible sight. He closed his eyes to relish the amalgamation of shame and fury that burnt his chest. It felt like only a day had passed since they had buried Kawarama.

Stood alone in the distance with his wretched smell, Itama continued to sob.

"Shinobi do not shed tears!" barked Butsuma. "Our purpose in life is to die on the field of battle!"

Tobirama bit his lip at his father's tirade. He turned his face away from the casket, expecting to see Hashirama standing beside him, alive and well, expecting to see him argued with their father with his conflicting ideology that always made Tobirama question where the boundaries of ethics and morals truly lied. The eerie sense of déjà vu was immediately dispelled when he was greeted with nothing but empty air.

"Your brother has fought bravely," Butsuma continued. "Despite his… disobedience," Butsuma grimaced, "he has eliminated many of those savages and injured their leader right on his cursed eye. Hashirama lived up to his name as a shinobi and died as a proud warrior, you should honor his sacrifice!"

In hindsight, he should have seen this coming.

Yesterday evening, Hashirama had continued to nag their father for a permission to go after Itama's team to no avail. Tobirama knew that Kawarama's death had eaten the older boy alive. Only a portion of the seven years old's remains was able to be retrieved. Should the worst scenario happen, Hashirama would have wanted to give Itama a proper burial. He had always been stubborn after all – he loved them too much – of course he would disregard their father's order to stand down. He should have known that the chakra signature he felt on his brother's room was a mere clone. Tobirama should have stopped him from leaving. If only he wasn't so careless, if only he wasn't so distracted, Hashirama might still have been alive.

He knew it, sentiment would be the end of his elder brother.

Though the clan head – it was difficult to call the man father when he was sending them towards their deaths every day – did not say it, Tobirama knew that their clan would experience setbacks due to his brother's passing. His big brother was special, a one of a kind wonder that would only appear once in every few generations – perhaps the best shinobi that their clan would ever produce. It was part of the reason why Tobirama was so confident that Hashirama would always return home. His elder brother was nothing if not resilient. His cells regenerated too fast for the wounds that were inflicted upon him to become fatal. It would take nothing less than decapitation or severe chakra exhaustion to the point where his body could no longer heal itself to truly kill him. No one could ever replace Hashirama, lest of all Tobirama, whose parentage was often questioned due to his peculiar appearance – not that they ever said it to his face.

If only he could revive the death. . .

But he could not possibly do that, could he?

No one had ever resurrected the deaths before. Death was a necessary phase for every living thing. Death was necessary to maintain the balance – too little death would result in overpopulation, whilst the opposite would result in extinction. He should not mess with the balance for his own selfish reason. But was it really selfish if it was done for the good of his clan?

Tobirama had always been the thinker of his family. He could create and do anything should he set his mind to it. The idea of reviving the deaths might be inconceivable for others, but it was doable to him – someway, somehow. He definitely would need to do lots of research and experiment, and he needed cadavers to do that – lots of them. People might consider him immoral, but then again. . . he had always been rather pragmatic. He would not pretend that he was a saint when he was anything but.

Wait. . .

Something prickled at the edge of his consciousness. What–

" _BUTSUMA-SAMA_!"

Tobirama straightened as a clansman appeared at the clearing. He could confirm what the messenger was about to say. The sudden influx of chakra from the western camp had told him everything.

The messenger quickly briefed his father of the situation with short, rapid codes. Butsuma's face turned grim, his dark eyes then flitted towards his youngest remaining son. "Itama, you're with him," he jerked his chin towards the messenger, "evacuation duty."

Itama gave their father a curt salute and disappeared with the messenger.

"Tobirama," Butsuma continued, his gaze sizing his heir, conveying a message that only the two of them could understand, "you know what to do."

Tobirama gave his father a brief salute – his red eyes shone with determination – before he too, flickered away.

It appeared his first experiment would happen sooner than expected, Tobirama thought.

Surely, nobody would care if a body or two were missing. After all, all was fair in love and war.

* * *

"What is that?"

Madara folded his arms together and focused his gaze towards the lump on the tray before him. Its glistening, pinkish interior was reflected on the smooth surface of the sharp blade that lay beside it.

The freezing temperature of the subterranean storage space bit right into his bones, only his fine control over his fire affinity prevented him from being incinerated by the chakra that he kept inside his stomach and lungs. The unfinished fire technique felt absolutely strange, like a twisted and backward version of constipation. It reminded of that one time when his hungover cousin tried to held back his vomit during clan meeting.

It did not end well.

"That was an arm," answered a voice behind him. "Well. . . part of an arm."

 _Duh_ , Madara thought. That much was obvious.

Madara glanced at the tall woman that had brought him into the room. Her dark – _creepy_ , in his opinion – yellow eyes were filled with mirth, as if she was watching a ridiculous theater show – a one hundred and eighty degree turns from her previous behavior. He remembered her being a fragile and subdued prisoner. She never talked much, not even to her fellow inmates; and the last time he checked she was quite ill. How she had managed to come here all by herself, he did not know. However, Tajima would never let his subjects roam around without his explicit permission, thus the woman must have brought him here for a reason.

The boy gestured his fingers towards the frozen flesh.

"Whose was it? What's up with it?"

The woman grinned, all teeth, as if she was a predator who had managed to lure her prey into a trap. "Why don't you figure it out yourself?"

Madara narrowed his eyes. "How?"

She smirked. "Pay attention, child."

Madara ignored the demeaning remark and watched with strange fascination as the woman – known as Subject 37 – picked the sharp utensil and poked the edge of the brown-skinned flesh. Then, with a surprising precision, she quickly made a horizontal incision on the flesh and divided it into two smaller pieces. She then trimmed the edge of the smaller piece, cutting the flesh into a perfect rectangle.

"Now what?" he muttered.

The woman smiled. "Now you give me your hand." She waggled her long fingers towards him when he hesitated. "Go on, come here."

"Why?" Madara asked again, annoyance began to seep into his tone.

Her smile widened. "So that you can see what makes it so _special_."

Madara stared. . . and stared some more.

Two opposite sides were waging a war inside himself, one being his self-perseverance whilst the other being his curiosity. The former was induced by the fact that the woman wanted him to surrender his hand for unknown – probably nefarious – purpose was holding a butcher knife with her other hand, which was not okay _at all_. The latter, on the other hand, was stemmed by the lump's unbearably plain appearance. He, of course, was curious about made the lump so special. It looked like a commoner's hand, a slave hand. Its tanned, dry skin was probably caused by continues exposure to the sun because its owner had to work their bones to the ground to provide for their family.

Madara frowned. Now he felt bad for its owner. There was no way that that lump could end up here with its owner's consent. He or she was probably dead now; or missing an arm, at the very least. Thus, he decided, the best course of action was to see what made the flesh so special. He had to honor its owner's sacrifice after all.

With no regards to his own safety, Madara placed his left wrist over the woman's waiting hand. His eyes were alight with curiosity as he waited for some amazing miracle to occur.

Madara immediately regretted his decision.

Without warning, the hand immediately clamped onto his wrist. The woman's long nails dug into his skin, sharp and unrelenting. Before he could make any move to retaliate, Number 37 brought down her butcher knife into his exposed forearm and cut.

His arm was on fire. The blade easily cut through his skin and subcutaneous tissue, stopping precisely just before his nerves. The process was then repeated three more times until a rectangle – perfectly identical in dimension to the flesh that she had previously cut – was formed.

He wanted to scream for help, as retaliating and/or moving his currently trapped and indisposed arm would likely result in permanent scarring and/or accidental amputation; however, screaming most likely would cause him to exhale the flame that he stored inside him, which would not only incinerate the psycho bitch, but also everything in the room – including him. Madara could only grit his teeth and bear the pain until whatever it was that the woman wanted to do was over. Judging from her smug grin, she knew that he was completely at her mercy.

But that was just the start.

Apparently, the pain of being cut was nothing compared to the pain of having his flesh removed from him. Fresh blood oozed from the open wound, dripping into his wrist and fingers. He did not expect the women to replace his flesh with the one on the tray – the tanned skin contrasted greatly against his fair one, which already tinged blue from the blood-loss – nor did he expect her to sew the skins together like cheap rags.

They looked wrong, felt wrong.

Driven by fear, pain, and survival instinct; the second that the women had stitched his skin, he grabbed her with his free arm and flickered into an open clearing. Anger coursed through his vein as he threw her away with a sickening crunch before he let loose of the stream of fire that he had stored inside his lungs. The concentrated blaze quickly engulfed her, its intense heat burnt her to crisp before she even had a chance to react.

Madara swayed on his feet, feeling nauseous. His eyes, now blood-red, were transfixed on the charred clearing, on the charred remains on its center. He knew that fire would first burn and peel away the outer layer of skin, then after a while the dermis would shrink and split open and fat would begin to leak out. The most severe burns could cause so much damage to the nerves that one might no longer able to feel pain. He did not know whether the woman had survived long enough to recognize that she could not feel pain anymore. Perhaps the initial pain of the fire was so severe that her body went into primary shock.

Madara cringed as the awful, acrid odor that assaulted his nostrils. It was nauseating and sweet, putrid and steak-like, akin to leather being tanned over a flame. The smell was so thick and rich that it was almost a taste. He doubted that he would ever get the smell out of his nose entirely, no matter how long he lived. But still. . . he supposed he had it good. It was better being traumatized than being dead. Moments like this made him understand his father a little more – his ruthlessness, his drive, his quest for vengeance. . .

Perhaps killing everyone _was_ the only way to reach peace. Greed, after all, was the root of all evil. If there was no one left, then there would be no source of conflict. Granted, it might mean the eradication of the human race, but in the long term. . .

Madara shook his head. He was musing silly thoughts again. He had better go to the infirmary and get his arm fixed. He needed to sterilize the wound, perhaps return to the storage room to retrieve––

"Fuck."

That was the only word that could sum up his entire thoughts. He had half-expected his wound to swell – to bleed again, even – but he did not expect it to. . . heal so well. The stitches had fallen off, leaving a perfect – if discolored – skin in its wake.

So that was its special property, huh? Fast regeneration. It opened up so many cans of possibilities for wound treatments and tissue regeneration. Who knew, perhaps it could be used to fix nerve damage, or _oh, oh_ – grow organs.

Madara felt absolutely giddy. He walked home with a spring in his step, the foreign flesh in his arm momentarily forgotten in favor of his new discovery.

Perhaps the medics would be able to heal his father's eye after all.

. . .

In the middle of the charred clearing, hidden by scorched flesh and deteriorating bones, Black Zetsu grinned.

* * *

 **A/N:** I've returned everyone! College left me little to no time to write, so thank you for your endless patience. Happy New Year!

1\. The storage room in Madara's POV is an ancient type of evaporative cooler called Yakhchāl that was made by Persian engineers in 400BC.

2\. In the manga, Madara and Hashirama have only met once before Itama's death.

 **Anyway, thank you for reading this chapter. Thank you for favoriting and following my story. Your reviews, especially, really make my day.**

 **I sincerely want to improve my writing, so all critics are welcomed. If it is possible, please tell me which part you like best and which part you hate, and why.**

 **Check out my other story,** **"** **The Black Parade** **"** **.**


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